[Belford to Lovelace] I may as well try to write; since, were I to go to bed, I shall not sleep. I never had such a weight of grief upon my mind in my life, as upon the demise of this admirable woman; whose soul is now rejoicing in the regions of light.
You may be glad to know the particulars of her happy exit. I will try to proceed; for all is hush and still; the family retired; but not one of them, and least of all her poor cousin, I dare say, to rest.
…
The lady had been silent a few minutes, and speechless, as they thought, moving her lips without uttering a word; one hand, as I said, in her cousin’s. But when Mrs. Lovick, on my approach, pronounced my name, O Mr. Belford, said she, with a faint inward voice, but very distinct nevertheless—Now!—Now! [in broken periods she spoke]—I bless God for his mercies to his poor creature—all will soon be over—a few—a very few moments—will end this strife—and I shall be happy!
Comfort here, Sir—turning her head to the Colonel—comfort my cousin —see! the blame—able kindness—he would not wish me to be happy —so soon!
Here she stopt for two or three minutes, earnestly looking upon him. Then resuming, My dearest Cousin, said she, be comforted—what is dying but the common lot?—The mortal frame may seem to labour—but that is all!—It is not so hard to die as I believed it to be!—The preparation is the difficulty—I bless God, I have had time for that—the rest is worse to beholders, than to me!—I am all blessed hope—hope itself.
…
She was silent for a few moments, lifting up her eyes, and the hand her cousin held not between his. Then, O Death! said she, where is thy sting! [the words I remember to have heard in the burial-service read over my uncle and poor Belton.] And after a pause—It is good for me that I was afflicted! Words of scripture, I suppose.
…
Then turning her head towards me—Do you, Sir, tell your friend that I forgive him!—And I pray to God to forgive him!—Again pausing, and lifting up her eyes as if praying that He would. Let him know how happily I die:—And that such as my own, I wish to be his last hour.
…
She paused again, her breath growing shorter; and, after a few minutes —And now, my dearest Cousin, give me your hand—nearer—still nearer —drawing it towards her; and she pressed it with her dying lips—God protect you, dear, dear Sir—and once more, receive my best and most grateful thanks—and tell my dear Miss Howe—and vouchsafe to see, and to tell my worthy Norton—she will be one day, I fear not, though now lowly in her fortunes, a saint in Heaven—tell them both, that I remember them with thankful blessings in my last moments!—And pray God to give them happiness here for many, many years, for the sake of their friends and lovers; and an heavenly crown hereafter; and such assurances of it, as I have, through the all-satisfying merits of my blessed Redeemer.
Her sweet voice and broken periods methinks still fill my ears, and never will be out of my memory.
After a short silence, in a more broken and faint accent—And you, Mr. Belford, pressing my hand, may God preserve you, and make you sensible of all your errors—you see, in me, how all ends—may you be—And down sunk her head upon her pillow, she fainting away, and drawing from us her hands.
…
…She waved her hand to us both, and bowed her head six several times, as we have since recollected, as if distinguishing every person present; not forgetting the nurse and the maid-servant; the latter having approached the bed, weeping, as if crowding in for the divine lady’s blessing; and she spoke faltering and inwardly—Bless—bless—bless—you all—and—now—and now—[holding up her almost lifeless hands for the last time] come—O come—blessed Lord —JESUS!
And with these words, the last but half-pronounced, expired:—such a smile, such a charming serenity overspreading her sweet face at the instant, as seemed to manifest her eternal happiness already begun.
O Lovelace!—But I can write no more!
***
…
She departed exactly at forty minutes after six o’clock, as by her watch on the table.
And thus died Miss CLARISSA HARLOWE, in the blossom of her youth and beauty: and who, her tender years considered, had not left behind her her superior in extensive knowledge and watchful prudence; nor hardly her equal for unblemished virtue, exemplary piety, sweetness of manners, discreet generosity, and true christian charity: and these all set off by the most graceful modesty and humility; yet on all proper occasions, manifesting a noble presence of mind, and true magnanimity: so that she may be said to have been not only an ornament to her sex, but to human nature.
A better pen than mine may do her fuller justice. Thine, I mean, O Lovelace! For well dost thou know how much she excelled in the graces of both mind and person, natural and acquired, all that is woman. And thou also can best account for the causes of her immature death, through those calamities which in so short a space of time, from the highest pitch of felicity, (every one in a manner adoring her,) brought he to an exit so happy for herself, but, that it was so early, so much to be deplored by all who had the honour of her acquaintance.
This task, then, I leave to thee: but now I can write no more, only that I am a sympathizer in every part of thy distress, except (and yet it is cruel to say it) in that which arises from thy guilt.
ONE O’CLOCK, FRIDAY MORNING.
Clarissa's death is quite lengthy (in this letter, as well as the last volume itself), but I was struck here by her dying declarations.
What do you make of her last scene and final words? And what of Belford's characterization of her death–and call to Lovelace to write his own words to “do her fuller justice”?
Clarissa's last words were exactly what I expected them to be — very Christian, forgiving of those who wronged her, and blessing everyone. Her last scene was definitely a happy one for her while for the people in attendance (and the reader) it was tragic.
Belford's call to Lovelace struck me as odd at first but then it seemed appropriate for Belford to do so. Belford does not think that he can capture all of the beauty and grace that Clarissa had and thinks that Lovelace would do justice to capturing it. Lovelace knew her “mind and her person” and Lovelace was an excellent writer (which we all know is no big secret). I think that Belford's call is also a bit accusatory because he points out that Lovelace is also the one who “can best account for the causes of her immature death.” So who better to write about Clarissa than the man who set out to actively pursue her, get to know her, rape her, and ultimately cause her death? While Lovelace is basically a terrible person, Belford still loves him and appears to be asking Lovelace to repent or show penitence by using his writing talents to write about Clarissa.
I think belford's charge to Lovelace to write of Clarissa. I am struck throughout these last letters at how much Belford continues to care for Lovelace. He never writes him off as a monster and never abandons him. That Belford, who so completely appreciates Clarissa continues to stand by Lovelace is telling
I also think it is significant that the three absent people Clarissa invokes with her last dying words are Anna. Mrs. Norton, and Lovelace. Conspicuously not her family
Belford's characterization of Clarissa's death quite obviously highlights Clarissa's grace, virtue, humility, and modesty, which certainly contrasts Mowbray's appalling characterization of Clarissa immediately prior to this scene that Belford so eloquently narrates.
I also particularly liked Belford's assertion that Clarissa should serve not only as a model of her sex but for all of humanity, which extends the didacticism of this novel to readers beyond the “middle-class female readership” for which this novel was intended (as we discussed in class last week with Dr. Ridley).
Finally, I found Belford's call to Lovelace quite interesting here, too, as you all have noted. The only reason I can justify Belford's request here is that he notes that Lovelace was the sole reason for her “fall,” and because he was so close to Clarissa prior to the incident and then after, that he has a much fuller view of Clarissa's true virtue than even Belford does because Lovelace was the one to “test” it. Belford knows that when compared to Lovelace, Clarissa’s virtue will (or at least should) be all the more apparent to those who read his account of the events, as Belford as heard from Lovelace himself.
Also, I find it interesting that a few letters later in the volume, Colonel Morden describes Lovelace as the “sole author of woe,” which I think is perhaps what Belford is pointing to here. Lovelace “authored” Clarissa’s fall from grace, so he should finish the tragic narrative because only his narrative will do justice to the horrific acts he has inflicted upon her.
I like what Kendra and Keri remind us of Lovelace's capacity to do the fullest TEXTUAL justice to Clarissa (since he can do no other)–for all that we hate to see him say of his love for and possession of her, no one–not even Anna–knows the full Clarissa better than Lovelace (even if that knowledge comes by tragic means). What Debra notes is also subtle and interesting; as our respect for Belford grows, I think his continued concern for Lovelace–accompanied by constant, often wounding, and completely just judgment of him–unconsciously prepares us to attend more carefully to all that happens within Lovelace's own mind and heart after Clarissa's death. It may even prepare us to cede him some empathy at his own end.
I also like very much the sudden elegiac tone of what Rachel highlights–almost like the end of an obituary: “And thus died miss CLARRISA HARLOWE, in the blossom of her youth and beauty . . .”