LETTER 487: MR. BELFORD TO ROBERT LOVELACE ESQ

Sat. ten o’ clock.

 

Poor Mrs. Norton is come. She was set down at the door; and would have gone up stairs directly. But Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Lovick being together and in tears, and the former hinting too suddenly to the truly venerable woman the fatal news, she sunk down at her feet, in fits; so that they were forced to breathe a vein, to bring her to herself; and to a capacity of exclamation: And then she run on to Mrs. Lovick and to me, who entered just as she recovered, in praise of the lady, in lamentations for her, and invectives against you: But yet so circumscribed were her invectives, that I could observe in them the woman well-educated, and in her lamentations the passion christianized, as I may say.

 

She was impatient to see the corpse. The women went up with her. But they owned, that they were too much affected themselves on this occasion to describe her extremely affecting behaviour.

 

With trembling impatience she pushed aside the coffinlid. She bathed the face with her tears, and kissed her cheeks and forehead, as if she were living. It was Her indeed, she said! Her sweet young lady! Her very self! Nor had death, which changed all things, a power to alter her lovely features! She admired the serenity of her aspect. She no doubt was happy, she said, as she had written to her she should be: But how many miserable creatures had she left behind her! —The good woman lamenting that she herself had lived to be one of them.

 

It was with difficulty they prevailed upon her to quit the corpse; and when they went into the next apartment, I joined them, and acquainted her with the kind legacy her beloved young lady had left her: But This rather augmented, than diminished her concern. She ought, she said, to have attended her in person. What was the world to her, wringing her hands, now the child of her bosom and of her heart was no more? Her principal consolation, however, was, that she should not long survive her. She hoped, she said, that she did not sin, in wishing she might not.

 

It was easy to observe by the similitude of sentiments shewn in This and other particulars, that the divine lady owed to this excellent woman many of her good notions.

 

I thought it would divert the poor gentlewoman, and not altogether unsuitably, if I were to put her upon furnishing mourning for herself; as it would rouse her, by a reasonable and necessary employment from that dismal lethargy of grief, which generally succeeds the too violent anguish with which a gentle nature is accustomed to be torn upon the first communication of the unexpected loss of a dear friend. I gave her therefore the thirty guineas bequeathed to her and to her son for mourning; the only mourning which the fair testatrix has mentioned: And desired her to lose no time in preparing her own, as I doubted not, that she would accompany the corpse, if it were permitted to be carried down.

 

The Colonel proposes to attend the herse, if his kindred give him not fresh cause of displeasure; and will take with him a copy of the Will. And being intent to give the family some favourable impressions of me, he will also, at his own desire, take with him the copy of the posthumous letter to me.

 

He is so kind as to promise me a minute account of all that shall pass on the melancholy occasion. And we have begun a friendship and settled a correspondence, which but one incident can possibly happen to interrupt to the end of our lives. And that I hope will not happen.

 

But what must be the grief, the remorse, that will seize upon the hearts of this hitherto inexorable family, on the receiving of the posthumous letters, and that of the Colonel apprizing them of what has happened!

 

I have given orders to an undertaker, on the supposition that the body will be permitted to be carried down; and the women intend to fill the coffin with aromatic herbs.

 

The Colonel has obliged me to take the bills and draughts which he brought up with him, for the considerable sums accrued since the grandfather’s death from the lady’s estate.

 

I could have shewn to Mrs. Norton the copies of the two letters which she missed by coming up. But her grief wants not the heightenings which the reading of them would have given her.

 

I have been dipping into the copies of the posthumous letters to the family, which Harry has carried down. Well may I call this admirable Lady divine. They ate all calculated to give comfort rather than reproach, tho’ their cruelty to her merited nothing but reproach. But were I in any of their places, how much rather had I, that she had quitted scores with me by the most severe recriminations, than that she should thus nobly triumph over me by a generosity that has no example?

 

I will inclose some of them, which I desire you to return as soon as you can.

 

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