You cannot but believe that I was much surprised at your letter,
complaining of the behaviour of my wife. I could no more have expected
such a complaint from such a gentleman, than I could, that she would
have deserved it: and I am very sorry on _both_ accounts. I have
talked to her in such a manner, that, I dare say, she will never give
you like cause to appeal to me.
It happened, that the criminal herself received it from her servant,
and brought it to me in my closet; and, making her honours (for I
can't say but she is very obliging to me, though she takes such saucy
freedoms with my friends) away she tript; and I, inquiring for her,
when, with surprise, as you may believe, I had read your charge, found
she was gone to visit a poor sick neighbour; of which indeed I knew
before because she took the chariot; but I had forgot it in my wrath.
At last, in she came, with that sweet composure in her face which
results from a consciousness of doing _generally_ just and generous
things. I resumed, therefore, that sternness and displeasure which her
entrance had almost dissipated. I took her hand; her charming eye
(you know what an eye she has, Sir Simon) quivered at my overclouded
aspect; and her lips, half drawn to a smile, trembling with
apprehension of a countenance so changed from what she left it.
And then, all stiff and stately as I could look, did I accost
her--"Come along with me, Pamela, to my closet. I want to talk with
you."
"What have I done? Let me know, good Sir!" looking round, with her
half-affrighted eyes, this way and that, on the books, and pictures,
and on me, by turns.
"You shall know soon," said I, "the _crime_ you have been guilty
of."--"_Crime_, Sir! Pray let me--This closet, I hoped, would not be a
_second_ time witness to the flutter you put me in."
_There_ hangs a tale, Sir Simon, which I am not very fond of relating,
since it gave beginning to the triumphs of this little sorceress. I
still held one hand, and she stood before me, as criminals ought to
do before their judge, but said, "I see, Sir, sure I do,--or what will
else become of me!--less severity in your eyes, than you affect to
put on in your countenance. Dear Sir, let me but know my fault: I will
repent, acknowledge, and amend."
"You must have great presence of mind, Pamela, such is the nature of
your fault, if you can look me in the face, when I tell it you."
"Then let me," said the irresistible charmer, hiding her face in my
bosom, and putting her other arm about my neck, "let me thus, my dear
Mr. B., hide this guilty face, while I hear my fault told; and I will
not seek to extenuate it, by my tears, and my penitence."
I could hardly hold out. What infatuating creatures are these women,
when they thus soothe and calm the tumults of an angry heart! When,
instead of _scornful_ looks darted in return for _angry_ ones, words
of _defiance_ for words of _peevishness,_ persisting to defend
_one_ error by _another_, and returning _vehement wrath_ for _slight
indignation,_ and all the hostile provocations of the marriage
warfare; they can thus hide their dear faces in our bosoms, and wish
but to _know_ their faults, to _amend_ them!
I could hardly, I say, resist the sweet girl's behaviour; nay, I
believe, I did, and in defiance to my resolved displeasure, press her
forehead with my lips, as the rest of her face was hid on my breast;
but, considering it was the cause of my _friend,_ I was to assert, my
_injured_ friend, wounded and insulted, in so various a manner by the
fair offender, thus haughtily spoke I to the trembling mischief, in a
pomp of style theatrically tragic:
"I will not, too inadvertent, and undistinguishing Pamela, keep
you long in suspense, for the sake of a circumstance, that, on this
occasion, ought to give you as much joy, as it has, till now, given
me--since it becomes an advocate in your favour, when otherwise you
might expect very severe treatment. Know then, that the letter you
gave me before you went out, is a letter from a friend, a neighbour, a
worthy neighbour, complaining of your behaviour to him;--no other than
Sir Simon Darnford" (for I would not amuse her too much), "a gentleman
I must always respect, and whom, as my friend, I expected _you_
should: since, by the value a wife expresses for one esteemed by her
husband, whether she thinks so well of him herself, or not, a man
ought always to judge of the sincerity of her regards to himself."
She raised her head at once on this:--"Thank Heaven," said she, "it is
no worse!--I was at my wit's end almost, in apprehension: but I know
how this must be. Dear Sir, how could you frighten me so?--I know how
all this is!--I can now look you in the face, and hear all that Sir
Simon can charge me with! For I am sure, I have not so affronted him
as to make him angry indeed. And truly" (ran she on, secure of pardon
as she seemed to think), "I should respect Sir Simon not only as your
friend, but on his own account, if he was not so sad a rake at a time
of life--"
Then I interrupted her, you must needs think. Sir Simon; for how could
I bear to hear my worthy friend so freely treated! "How now, Pamela!"
said I; "and is it thus, by _repeating_ your fault, that you _atone_
for it? Do you think I can bear to hear my friend so freely treated?"
"Indeed," said she, "I do respect Sir Simon very much as your
_friend_, permit me to repeat; but cannot for his wilful failings.
Would it not be, in some measure, to approve of faulty conversation,
if one can hear it, and not discourage it, when the occasion comes in
so pat?--And, indeed, I was glad of an opportunity," continued she,
"to give him a little rub; I must needs own it: but if it displeases
you, or has made him angry in earnest, I am sorry for it, and will be
less bold for the future."
"Read then," said I, "the heavy charge, and I'll return instantly to
hear your answer to it." So I went from her, for a few minutes. But,
would you believe it, Sir Simon? she seemed, on my return, very little
concerned at your just complaints. What self-justifying minds have the
meekest of these women!--Instead of finding her in repentant tears, as
one would expect, she took your angry letter for a jocular one; and
I had great difficulty to convince her of the heinousness of _her_
fault, or the reality of your resentment. Upon which, being determined
to have justice done to my friend, and a due sense of her own great
error impressed upon her, I began thus:
"Pamela, take heed that you do not suffer the purity of your own mind,
in breach of your charity, to make you too rigorous a censurer
of other people's actions: don't be so puffed up with your own
perfections, as to imagine, that, because other persons allow
themselves liberties you cannot take, _therefore_ they must be wicked.
Sir Simon is a gentleman who indulges himself in a pleasant vein, and,
I believe, as well as you, _has been_ a great rake and libertine:"
(You'll excuse me, Sir Simon, because I am taking your part), "but
what then? You see it is all over with him now. He says, that he
_must_, and therefore he _will_ be virtuous: and is a man for ever to
hear the faults of his youth, when so willing to forget them?"
"Ah! but, Sir, Sir," said the bold slut, "can you say he is _willing_
to forget them?--Does he not repine in this very letter, that
he _must_ forsake them; and does he not plainly cherish the
_inclination_, when he owns--" She hesitated--"Owns what?"--"You know
what I mean. Sir, and I need not speak it: and can there well be a
more censurable character?--Then before his maiden daughters! his
virtuous lady! _before_ any body!--What a sad thing is this, at a time
of life, which should afford a better example!
"But, dear Sir," continued the bold prattler, (taking advantage of
a silence more owing to displeasure than approbation) "let me, for
I would not be too _censorious_" (No, not she! in the very act of
censoriousness to say this!), "let me offer but one thing: don't
you think Sir Simon himself would be loth to be thought a reformed
gentleman? Don't you see his delight, when speaking of his former
pranks, as if sorry he could not play them over again? See but how he
simpers, and _enjoys_, as one may say, the relations of his own rakish
actions, when he tells a bad story!"
"But," said I, "were this the case" (for I profess, Sir Simon, I was
at a grievous loss to defend you), "for you to write all these free
things against a father to his daughter, is that right, Pamela?"
"O, Sir! the good gentleman himself has taken care, that such a
character as I presumed to draw to Miss of her papa, was no strange
one to her. You have seen yourself, Mr. B., whenever his arch leers,
and his humourous attitude on those occasions, have taught us to
expect some shocking story, how his lady and daughters (used to him as
they are), have suffered in their apprehensions of what he would say,
before he spoke it: how, particularly, dear Miss Darnford has looked
at me with concern, desirous, as it were, if possible, to save her
papa from the censure, which his faulty expressions must naturally
bring upon him. And, dear Sir, is it not a sad thing for a young lady,
who loves and honours her papa, to observe, that he is discrediting
himself, and _wants_ the example he ought to _give?_ And pardon me,
Sir, for smiling on so serious an occasion; but is it not a fine
sight to see a gentleman, as we have often seen Sir Simon, when he has
thought proper to read a passage in some bad book, pulling off _his
spectacles_, to talk filthily upon it? Methinks I see him now," added
the bold slut, "splitting his arch face with a broad laugh, shewing a
mouth, with hardly a tooth in it, and making obscene remarks upon what
he has read."
And then the dear saucy-face laughed out, to bear _me_ company; for I
could not, for the soul of me, avoid laughing heartily at the figure
she brought to my mind, which I have seen my old friend more than once
make, with his dismounted spectacles, arch mouth, and gums of shining
jet, succeeding those of polished ivory, of which he often boasts, as
one ornament of his youthful days.--And I the rather in my heart, Sir
Simon, gave you up, because, when I was a sad fellow, it was always my
maxim to endeavour to touch a lady's heart without wounding her
ears. And, indeed, I found my account sometimes in observing it. But,
resuming my gravity--"Hussy, said I, do you think I will have my old
friend thus made the object of your ridicule?--Suppose a challenge
should have ensued between us on your account--what might have been
the issue of it? To see an old gentleman, stumping, as he says, on
crutches, to fight a duel in defence of his wounded honour!"--"Very
bad, Sir, to be sure: I see that, and am sorry for it: for had you
carried off Sir Simon's crutch, as a trophy, he must have lain sighing
and groaning like a wounded soldier in the field of battle, till
another had been brought him, to have stumped home with."
But, dear Sir Simon, I have brought this matter to an issue, that
will, I hope, make all easy;--Miss Polly, and my Pamela, shall both be
punished as they deserve, if it be not your own fault. I am told, that
the sins of your youth don't sit so heavily upon your limbs, as in
your imagination; and I believe change of air, and the gratification
of your revenge, a fine help to such lively spirits as yours, will set
you up. You shall then take coach, and bring your pretty criminal to
mine; and when we have them together, they shall humble themselves
before us, and you can absolve or punish them, as you shall see
proper. For I cannot bear to have my worthy friend insulted in so
heinous a manner, by a couple of saucy girls, who, if not taken down
in time, may proceed from fault to fault, till there will be no living
with them.
If (to be still more serious) your lady and you will lend Miss
Darnford to my Pamela's wishes, whose heart is set upon the hope of
her wintering with us in town, you will lay an obligation upon us
both; which will be acknowledged with great gratitude by, dear Sir,
_your affectionate and humble servant_.