[In the following essay, Grieder provides an overview discussion of Rowe's Friendship in Death and Letters Moral and Entertaining.]

Since vice frequently receives more publicity than virtue, the reader acquainted with the scandalous lives and writings of early eighteenth-century authoresses like Mrs. Manley and Mrs. Haywood may be surprised to learn that there were indeed respectable ladies among the female littérateurs; and that none was so highly regarded as the writer of the present volume, Mrs. Elizabeth Singer Rowe (1674–1737). She moved in what John J. Richetti calls "pious but elegant dissenting circles," which included Bishop Ken and Isaac Watts, and numbered among her friends Frances Thynne, Countess of Hertford, and Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea.¹ When she died, her posthumously published private prayers and meditations, collected by Watts, became enormously popular with the reading public; biographies and poetical remembrances by her friends published in contemporary periodicals praised her exemplary life and conduct. The popularity of Friendship in Death—at least fourteen editions between 1733 and 1816—may be seen as a tribute to Mrs. Rowe's reputation and to her successful inculcation of moral lessons.

The first part of the edition here reprinted, Friendship in Death: In Twenty Letters from the Dead to the Living, was published in 1728, along with the Thoughts on Death (paginated 1–70); Part I of the Letters Moral and Entertaining (separately paginated 1–138) also appeared in that edition, and Parts II and III of the Letters (paginated 1–253) appeared respectively in 1731 and 1732. This "third edition" thus represents a sort of collected works, but for the purposes of criticism, Friendship in Death and the succeeding Letters will be examined separately.

In choosing to present letters from departed spirits, Mrs. Rowe was breaking no new ground; probably her most famous predecessor was Tom Brown and his Letters from the Dead to the Living (1702, etc.).² Unlike Brown's correspondents, however, famous men who commented wittily and maliciously on Hell and their notorious living contemporaries, Mrs. Rowe's spirits are unknown (though well-born) individuals who seek only to convince their readers that life beyond death is indeed worth preparation and sacrifice. As the authoress says in her preface, "The Drift of these Letters is, to impress the Notion of the Soul's Immortality; without which, all Virtue and Religion, with their Temporal and Eternal good Consequences, must fall to the Ground." The reader's mind is to be made "familiar, with the Thoughts of our Future Existence, and contract, as it were, unawares, an Habitual Persuasion of it" (no pp.). Each letter thus presents a particular argument for immortality, though certain principal ideas can be emphasized.

For example, the living would do well to prepare themselves to meet death gratefully and with joy. The writer of Letter I recalls to the Earl of R*** his brother's death "which was all a Demonstration of the Immortality of the Soul" (p. 3); on seeing the peace and happiness with which his brother died, even the Earl confessed that though he thought "Religion a Delusion, it was the most agreeable Delusion in the World, and the Men who flattered themselves with those gay Visions, had much the Advantage of those that saw nothing before them but a gloomy Uncertainty, or the dreadful Hope of an Annihilation" (p. 4). This happy death is contrasted with that of the libertine Carlos in Letter XII, as recounted by Cleander: "with Amazement he saw the universal Terror make its slow and dreadful Approaches; and after a tedious and painful Struggle, yielded to the gloomy Conqueror, and with a deep Groan, gave up his Breath, and went to make the Great Experiment" (pp. 44–45).

As the shades insistently repeat, the celestial realm is a magnificent vista, splendidly beautiful and satisfying. Moreover, they are intent upon assuring the reader that love is an essential part of angelic existence. Altamont, who died grieving for his wife Almeria, finds that she is the first to greet him in "this fragrant, this enchanting Land of love" (p. 7); together they enjoy all pleasures "such us [sic] elevate angelick Minds, and gratify the noblest Faculties of immortal Spirits" (p. 8). Delia, who before dying had felt a modest passion for Emilia's brother, finds the departed lad again, and love for him "has taken eternal possession of my Soul" (p. 24).

The spirit correspondents are delighted to have "finish'd their trifling Farces of life" (p. 32). The two-year-old child reveals to his mother that before dying he knew only "pure Instinct and natural Sympathy," whereas now, "I found myself an active and reasonable Being" (p. 9). Death may have terminated insoluble problems. The lady of Letter IV whose religious obligations were at odds with her love, has found peace, for "Here are no Vows that tear us from our Wishes, no Conflict betwixt Passion and Virtue" (p. 15). One young man writes to his sister that though he died in the full bloom of youth, riches, and honor, "these Advantages might have been fatal Snares to my Vertue, in a longer Trial: 'Twas indulgent in Heaven, after a short Probation, to crown me with the Rewards of Victory" (p. 53).

The solicitous spirits constantly warn their earthbound correspondents that they may by their present behavior forfeit bliss. Climene is told that "You must desperately give up your Title to celestial Happiness, to the Worlds of Life and Pleasure, of immortal Beauty and Youth" (p. 50) if she does not avoid Alcander's wiles. Serena warns her brother of "some Levities in your Conversation, that require your speedy Penitence and Reformation; or seeming Trifles will enlarge themselves into the greatest Terrors" (p. 58). Theodosius, who seduced a woman, was tormented but at last magnanimously pardoned by Heaven; nevertheless, he cautions Varrius, "however serene the last Scene of my Life was, I would not, for all the Joys the lower Creation could give, endure the Distraction and Remorse that one Error cost me. Are you soften'd at the Complaints of my Misery? be terrify'd at the Approaches of your own" (p. 64).

These same themes are continued in the Letters Moral and Entertaining though, because the correspondents write about others as well as about themselves, the presentation offers more variety. The opposition already established between heaven and earth is here translated into the opposition between the country, where peace, freedom, and reflection can only be found, and the city, which is tyrannized by custom and mode. Silviana, raised strictly and decently in the country by her clergyman father, marries a wealthy lord and must move to London; in spite of her love, "I cannot without a sigh recal the harmless freedom, the unmolested innocence, in which the earliest part of my life was past; and am surprised to find myself the object of most people's envy, while in reality I merit their compassion" (III, 176). The best—because the most developed—-illustration of the country's benevolent influence occurs in the story of Rosalinda, who has fled the Papist fiancé her father had chosen and elects to become a servant girl in a country mansion. The choice brings her all the happiness she can desire. "It was a principle truly rational and divine, that induced me to give up all the splendid distinctions of my birth, the ease and delicacy to which I had been accustomed, rather than basely deny those sacred truths, to which my soul religiously assented" (II, 13), she asserts; "I find myself under no necessity to court the impertinent or flatter the ambitious, nor to do a thousand unreasonable things for fear of being singular and out of the mode" (III, 129).

Mrs. Rowe does not drop the theme of repentance; she takes care to portray the sufferings of the impenitent as lessons to her readers. Cassander, who has killed Antonio in the arms of his mistress, is gnawed by remorse and the "tortures of an accusing conscience" (I, 13); the Duke of *** confesses his terror of "the terrible hereafter, the something beyond the grave at which I recoil" (I, 50). "Were I penitent," moans the haggard Aurelia, "could I resolve on a reformation, this leisure and retirement [in the country] would be a blessing, an advantage to me; but I am obstinate in guilt, while I despair of happiness in this world and the next…. I am weary of living and afraid to die!" (III, 207).

Probably the only character who approaches real wickedness is Palanty, a cardinal's niece (Mrs. Rowe's villains are frequently Papists) who has disguised herself as a man so she may be Lysander's page, seduces, then tyrannizes him, becomes pregnant, and finally commits suicide on learning of his marriage. Interestingly enough, she writes the only letter from Hell in the collection; denied access to heaven and confined instead to " a dismal region, waste and wide, of which no mortal can form a conception, nor find a name for half its terrors" (II, 62), she urges him to repent his misdeeds.

That Mrs. Rowe does believe in the possibility of repentance and pardon is proved by the sequel to the foregoing story. Lysander, indeed persuaded to repent by Palanty's ghost, declares, "I am an instance of its [Christianity's] divine power, by which I am transformed from the brutal to the human nature" (II, 63). But repentance, the authoress emphasizes, must be total. Terraminta, though never actually permitting herself to be seduced, still listened to Alonzo's declaration of love. Although she and he make a pact "to make what amends we could for the errors we had fallen into, and for these last three years have applied ourselves seriously to the securing of our salvation … we have never been able to conquer our unhappy passion"; and caught in "this eternal contradiction," she is dying (I, 123–124). One must contrast this with Hermione's repentance—albeit not of passion but of a misguided seduction—which "has been deep and sincere; and, through the Divine Redemption my pardon is procured, and my guilt for ever obliterated" (II, 108).

Portraits of the virtuous outnumber those of the sinners, however. An upright and moral woman may often convert an overly amorous swain, as Cleora does Herminius (Letter VII, I) and Mrs. X does Albanus (Letter XVIII, I). But most approbation is given to those who seek the platonic ideal of the "Original Good"; "if 'tis imaginary," Evander says to a libertine, "the mind must yet be enlarged, by grasping at the enjoyment of infinite happiness" (I, 33). Thus, a statesman is convinced by his own worldly success that fame and love are nothing and retires to the country to meditate on higher things; a Deist, "a convert to natural religion … a sort of virtuous heathen" (I, 22), writes a long poem proving that Nature confirms the existence of God. That Mrs. Rowe regards this search for the ideal as more important than doctrinal affiliation is evident in the libertine's letter to Albanus. "A sort of philosophick libertine, and [one who] pursued pleasure for the sake of demonstration; I paused, I reasoned, I made critical reflections on every enjoyment" (III, 157), he explains; "mine was a deliberate search after happiness; while the method was wrong my end was right." But his experiments disappoint him, while they improve his understanding. "In the absence of sensual amusements, my thoughts found leisure for a nobler application, my soul grew familiar with itself, and sought acquaintance with intellectual beings"; and finally, "that felicity I had blindly sought, the unknown God I had ignorantly worshipped, now revealed himself to me, as the sovereign good, and my peculiar bliss" (III, 158). He concludes his spiritual progress with a paean to heavenly comfort and a poem on happiness.

The six letters from Laura to Aurelia both terminate and summarize the lessons Mrs. Rowe has been trying to inculcate. When Laura is first exiled to her brother's country home, she is thoroughly displeased by her surroundings. "The smell of violets gives me the hystericks; fresh air murders me; … the cooling zephyrs will fan me into a catarrh, if I stay here much longer" (III, 224–225). But country solitude also oppresses her with thoughts of mortality: "'tis hard for me to keep up my spirits in leisure and retirement; it makes me anxiously inquisitive what will become of me when my breath flies away" (III, 226). For the moment, the best she can envision is some awful reincarnation, "to grin in a monkey, or look demure in a broad-fac'd owl." She becomes so incensed that, she finally protests, "really there is something so gloomy and uncomfortable in these prospects of futurity, that if I consider them much longer, I shall turn christian again in defiance of my brother" (III, 227).

The discovery of a pious and handsome country hermit makes a considerable impression upon her; but she is "extreamly vexed" that he treats her "with as much indifference and respect, as if I had been his great grandmother" (III, 236). Nevertheless, for the pleasure of his company, she puts up with his discussions of virtue and rectitude, "themes which from another person would have composed me better than a dose of Laudanum" (II, 24), but which, coming from him, she finds strangely impressive. When the hermit tells Laura of his premonition of death, she mocks him. She is, however, uneasy: "He has certainly infected me with some religious panicks; I have lost my taste for every kind of diversion; company is molesting, and solitude tiresome; self-reflection distracts me; whether I look forward or backward, the prospect is all confusion" (III, 247). When his shade does in fact return, Laura's conversion is complete. "This momentary view of celestial beauty has obscured all earthly glory…. With the evidence I now have of a future existence, my notions of happiness are refined and enlarged, my hopes bright and unlimited" (III, 251).

A great many things may be said—most of them critical—about Friendship in Death and the Letters as fiction. There is no character development; no real plot; no realistic physical setting. Mrs. Rowe is solely concerned with presenting situations which demonstrate her didactic and religious purposes. At the same time, one must grant her certain concessions. She is not wedded to any particular doctrine nor to any rigid moral code. Provided that her characters try to live up to a reasonable standard—truth, benevolence, fidelity to themselves and others—she accepts them; and if she reserves her utmost admiration for those who actively pursue an "original good," she is doing no more than philosophers before her. She admits misdoing, but she exhorts repentance; her characters are more often in conflict with society's misguided values than with their own passions. Her morality, though perhaps too tendentious for the twentieth-century reader, does not lack common sense; if her exhortations to seek solitude and reflection seem simplistic, it is perhaps because there is little solitude at present to find.

Notes

¹ See Mr. Richetti's excellent discussion of her reputation, and of this work, in Popular Fiction before Richardson: Narrative Patterns, 1700–1739 (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1969), pp. 239–261.

² Other predecessors, satirical like Brown, included an anonymous Huguenot who attacks the French king and clergy in a series of letters and William King's Dialogues of the Dead Relating to the Present Controversy concerning the Epistles of Phalaris (1699); one might also mention Ovid and the Heroides, since in the Letters Mrs. Rowe includes poetical epistles from celebrated ladies like Jane Grey and Fair Rosamund. For further details on her relation to epistolary development, see Robert Adams Day, Told in Letters: Epistolary Fiction before Richardson (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1966).