prince, my fair-one, said the good, kind, kind gentleman! in that
dress, or any you shall choose: And you look so pretty, that, if you
shall not catch cold in that round-eared cap, you shall go just as you
are. But, sir, said I, then you’ll be pleased to go a bye-way, that it
mayn’t be seen you do so much honor to your servant. O my good girl!
said he, I doubt you are afraid of yourself being talked of, more than
me: for I hope by degrees to take off the world’s wonder, and teach
them to expect what is to follow, as a due to my Pamela.
O the dear good man! There’s for you, my dear father and mother!—Did I
not do well now to come back?—O could I get rid of my fears of this
sham-marriage, (for all this is not yet inconsistent with that
frightful scheme,) I should be too happy!
So I came up, with great pleasure, for my gloves: and now wait his kind
commands. Dear, dear sir! said I to myself, as if I was speaking to
him, for God’s sake let me have no more trials and reverses; for I
could not bear it now, I verily think!
At last the welcome message came, that my master was ready; and so I
went down as fast as I could; and he, before all the servants, handed
me in, as if I was a lady; and then came in himself. Mrs. Jewkes begged
he would take care he did not catch cold, as he had been ill. And I had
the pride to hear his new coachman say, to one of his fellow-servants,
They are a charming pair, I am sure! ’tis pity they should be parted!—O
my dear father and mother! I fear your girl will grow as proud as any
thing! And, especially, you will think I have reason to guard against
it, when you read the kind particulars I am going to relate.
He ordered dinner to be ready by two; and Abraham, who succeeds John,
went behind the coach. He bid Robin drive gently, and told me, he
wanted to talk to me about his sister Davers, and other matters.
Indeed, at first setting out he kissed me a little too often, that he
did; and I was afraid of Robin’s looking back, through the fore-glass,
and people seeing us, as they passed; but he was exceedingly kind to
me, in his words, as well. At last, he said,
You have, I doubt not, read, over and over, my sister’s saucy letter;
and find, as I told you, that you are no more obliged to her than I am.
You see she intimates, that some people had been with her; and who
should they be, but the officious Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Longman, and
Jonathan! and so that has made me take the measures I did in dismissing
them my service.—I see, said he, you are going to speak on their
behalfs; but your time is not come to do that, if ever I shall permit
it.
My sister, says he, I have been beforehand with; for I have renounced
her. I am sure I have been a kind brother to her; and gave her to the
value of 3000L. more than her share came to by my father’s will, when I
entered upon my estate. And the woman, surely, was beside herself with
passion and insolence, when she wrote me such a letter; for well she
knew I would not bear it. But you must know, Pamela, that she is much
incensed, that I will give no ear to a proposal of hers, of a daughter
of my Lord ——, who, said he, neither in person, or mind, or
acquirements, even with all her opportunities, is to be named in a day
with my Pamela. But yet you see the plea, my girl, which I made to you
before, of the pride of condition, and the world’s censure, which, I
own, sticks a little too close with me still: for a woman shines not
forth to the public as man; and the world sees not your excellencies
and perfections: If it did, I should entirely stand acquitted by the
severest censures. But it will be taken in the lump; that here is Mr.
B——, with such and such an estate, has married his mother’s
waiting-maid: not considering there is not a lady in the kingdom that
can out-do her, or better support the condition to which she will be
raised, if I should marry her. And, said he, putting his arm round me,
and again kissing me, I pity my dear girl too, for her part in this
censure; for, here will she have to combat the pride and slights of the
neighbouring gentry all around us. Sister Davers, you see, will never
be reconciled to you. The other ladies will not visit you; and you
will, with a merit superior to them all, be treated as if unworthy
their notice. Should I now marry my Pamela, how will my girl relish all
this? Won’t these be cutting things to my fair-one? For, as to me, I
shall have nothing to do, but, with a good estate in possession, to
brazen out the matter of my former pleasantry on this subject, with my
companions of the chase, the green, and the assemblee; stand their rude
jests for once or twice, and my fortune will create me always respect
enough, I warrant you. But, I say, what will my poor girl do, as to her
part, with her own sex? For some company you must keep. My station will
not admit it to be with my servants; and the ladies will fly your
acquaintance; and still, though my wife, will treat you as my mother’s
waiting-maid.—What says my girl to this?
You may well guess, my dear father and mother, how transporting these
kind, these generous and condescending sentiments were to me!—I thought
I had the harmony of the spheres all around me; and every word that
dropped from his lips was as sweet as the honey of Hybla to me.—Oh!
sir, said I, how inexpressibly kind and good is all this! Your poor
servant has a much greater struggle than this to go through, a more
knotty difficulty to overcome.
What is that? said he, a little impatiently: I will not forgive your
doubts now.—No, sir, said I, I cannot doubt; but it is, how I shall
support, how I shall deserve your goodness to me.—Dear girl! said he,
and hugged me to his breast, I was afraid you would have made me angry
again; but that I would not be, because I see you have a grateful
heart; and this your kind and cheerful return, after such cruel usage
as you had experienced in my house, enough to make you detest the
place, has made me resolve to bear any thing in you, but doubts of my
honour, at a time when I am pouring out my soul, with a true and
affectionate ardour, before you.
But, good sir, said I, my greatest concern will be for the rude jests
you will have yourself to encounter with, for thus stooping beneath
yourself. For, as to me, considering my lowly estate, and little merit,
even the slights and reflections of the ladies will be an honour to me:
and I shall have the pride to place more than half their ill will to
their envy at my happiness. And if I can, by the most cheerful duty,
and resigned obedience, have the pleasure to be agreeable to you, I
shall think myself but too happy, let the world say what it will.
He said, You are very good, my dearest girl! But how will you bestow
your time, when you will have no visits to receive or pay? No parties
of pleasure to join in? No card-tables to employ your winter evenings;
and even, as the taste is, half the day, summer and winter? And you
have often played with my mother, too, and so know how to perform a
part there, as well as in the other diversions: and I’ll assure you, my
girl, I shall not desire you to live without such amusements, as my
wife might expect, were I to marry a lady of the first quality.
O, sir, said I, you are all goodness! How shall I bear it?—But do you
think, sir, in such a family as yours, a person whom you shall honour
with the name of mistress of it, will not find useful employments for
her time, without looking abroad for any others?
In the first place, sir, if you will give me leave, I will myself look
into such parts of the family economy, as may not be beneath the rank
to which I shall have the honour of being exalted, if any such there
can be; and this, I hope, without incurring the ill will of any honest
servant.
Then, sir, I will ease you of as much of your family accounts, as I
possibly can, when I have convinced you that I am to be trusted with
them; and you know, sir, my late good lady made me her treasurer, her
almoner, and every thing.
Then, sir, if I must needs be visiting or visited, and the ladies won’t
honour me so much, or even if they would now and then, I will visit, if
your goodness will allow me so to do, the sick poor in the
neighbourhood around you; and administer to their wants and
necessities, in such matters as may not be hurtful to your estate, but
comfortable to them; and entail upon you their blessings, and their
prayers for your dear health and welfare.
Then I will assist your housekeeper, as I used to do, in the making
jellies, comfits, sweetmeats, marmalades, cordials; and to pot, and
candy, and preserve for the uses of the family; and to make, myself,
all the fine linen of it for yourself and me.
Then, sir, if you will sometimes indulge me with your company, I will
take an airing in your chariot now and then: and when you shall return
home from your diversions on the green, or from the chase, or where you
shall please to go, I shall have the pleasure of receiving you with
duty, and a cheerful delight; and, in your absence, count the moments
till you return; and you will, may be, fill up some part of my time,
the sweetest by far! with your agreeable conversation, for an hour or
two now and then; and be indulgent to the impertinent overflowings of
my grateful heart, for all your goodness to me.
The breakfasting-time, the preparations for dinner, and sometimes to
entertain your chosen friends, and the company you shall bring home
with you, gentlemen, if not ladies, and the supperings, will fill up a
great part of the day in a very necessary manner.
And, may be, sir, now and then a good-humoured lady will drop in; and,
I hope, if they do, I shall so behave myself, as not to add to the
disgrace you will have brought upon yourself: for, indeed, I will be
very circumspect, and try to be as discreet as I can; and as humble
too, as shall be consistent with your honour.
Cards, ’tis true, I can play at, in all the usual games that our sex
delight in; but this I am not fond of, nor shall ever desire to play,
unless to induce such ladies, as you may wish to see, not to abandon
your house for want of an amusement they are accustomed to.
Music, which our good lady taught me, will fill up some intervals, if I
should have any.
And then, sir, you know, I love reading and scribbling; and though all
the latter will be employed in the family accounts, between the
servants and me, and me and your good self: yet reading, at proper
times, will be a pleasure to me, which I shall be unwilling to give up,
for the best company in the world, except yours. And, O sir! that will
help to polish my mind, and make me worthier of your company and
conversation; and, with the explanations you will give me, of what I
shall not understand, will be a sweet employment, and improvement too.
But one thing, sir, I ought not to forget, because it is the chief: My
duty to God will, I hope, always employ some good portion of my time,
with thanks for his superlative goodness to me; and to pray for you and
myself: for you, sir, for a blessing on you, for your great goodness to
such an unworthy creature: for myself, that I may be enabled to
discharge my duty to you, and be found grateful for all the blessings I
shall receive at the hands of Providence, by means of your generosity
and condescension.
With all this, sir, said I, can you think I shall be at a loss to pass
my time? But, as I know, that every slight to me, if I come to be so
happy, will be, in some measure, a slight to you, I will beg of you,
sir, not to let me go very fine in dress; but appear only so, as that
you may not be ashamed of it after the honour I shall have of being
called by your worthy name: for well I know, sir, that nothing so much
excites the envy of my own sex, as seeing a person above them in
appearance, and in dress. And that would bring down upon me an hundred
saucy things, and low-born brats, and I can’t tell what!
There I stopped; for I had prattled a great deal too much so early: and
he said, clasping me to him, Why stops my dear Pamela?—Why does she not
proceed? I could dwell upon your words all the day long; and you shall
be the directress of your own pleasures, and your own time, so sweetly
do you choose to employ it: and thus shall I find some of my own bad
actions atoned for by your exemplary goodness, and God will bless me
for your sake.
O, said he, what pleasure you give me in this sweet foretaste of my
happiness! I will now defy the saucy, busy censurers of the world; and
bid them know your excellence, and my happiness, before they, with
unhallowed lips, presume to judge of my actions, and your merit!—And
let me tell you, my Pamela, that I can add my hopes of a still more
pleasing amusement, and what your bashful modesty would not permit you
to hint; and which I will no otherwise touch upon, lest it should seem,
to your nicety, to detract from the present purity of my good
intentions, than to say, I hope to have superadded to all these, such
an employment, as will give me a view of perpetuating my happy
prospects, and my family at the same time; of which I am almost the
only male.
I blushed, I believe; yet could not be displeased at the decent and
charming manner with which he insinuated this distant hope: And oh!
judge for me, how my heart was affected with all these things!
He was pleased to add another charming reflection, which shewed me the
noble sincerity of his kind professions. I do own to you, my Pamela,
said he, that I love you with a purer flame than ever I knew in my
whole life; a flame to which I was a stranger; and which commenced for
you in the garden; though you, unkindly, by your unseasonable doubts,
nipped the opening bud, while it was too tender to bear the cold blasts
of slight or negligence. And I know more sincere joy and satisfaction
in this sweet hour’s conversation with you, than all the guilty tumults
of my former passion ever did, or (had even my attempts succeeded) ever
could have afforded me.
O, sir, said I, expect not words from your poor servant, equal to these
most generous professions. Both the means, and the will, I now see, are
given to you, to lay me under an everlasting obligation. How happy
shall I be, if, though I cannot be worthy of all this goodness and
condescension, I can prove myself not entirely unworthy of it! But I
can only answer for a grateful heart; and if ever I give you cause,
wilfully, (and you will generously allow for involuntary
imperfections,) to be disgusted with me, may I be an outcast from your
house and favour, and as much repudiated, as if the law had divorced me
from you!
But sir, continued I, though I was so unseasonable as I was in the
garden, you would, I flatter myself, had you then heard me, have
pardoned my imprudence, and owned I had some cause to fear, and to wish
to be with my poor father and mother: and this I the rather say, that
you should not think me capable of returning insolence for your
goodness; or appearing foolishly ungrateful to you, when you was so
kind to me.
Indeed, Pamela, said he, you gave me great uneasiness; for I love you
too well not to be jealous of the least appearance of your indifference
to me, or preference to any other person, not excepting your parents
themselves. This made me resolve not to hear you; for I had not got
over my reluctance to marriage; and a little weight, you know, turns
the scale, when it hangs in an equal balance. But yet, you see, that
though I could part with you, while my anger held, yet the regard I had
then newly professed for your virtue, made me resolve not to offer to
violate it; and you have seen likewise, that the painful struggle I
underwent when I began to reflect, and to read your moving journal,
between my desire to recall you, and my doubt whether you would return,
(though yet I resolved not to force you to it,) had like to have cost
me a severe illness: but your kind and cheerful return has dispelled
all my fears, and given me hope, that I am not indifferent to you; and
you see how your presence has chased away my illness.
I bless God for it, said I; but since you are so good as to encourage
me, and will not despise my weakness, I will acknowledge, that I
suffered more than I could have imagined, till I experienced it, in
being banished your presence in so much anger; and the more still was I
affected, when you answered the wicked Mrs. Jewkes so generously in my
favour, at my leaving your house. For this, sir, awakened all my
reverence for you; and you saw I could not forbear, not knowing what I
did, to break boldly in upon you, and acknowledge your goodness on my
knees. ’Tis true, my dear Pamela, said he, we have sufficiently
tortured one another; and the only comfort that can result from it,
will be, reflecting upon the matter coolly and with pleasure, when all
these storms are overblown, (as I hope they now are,) and we sit
together secured in each other’s good opinion, recounting the uncommon
gradations by which we have ascended to the summit of that felicity,
which I hope we shall shortly arrive at.
Meantime, said the good gentleman, let me hear what my dear girl would
have said in her justification, could I have trusted myself with her,
as to her fears, and the reason of her wishing herself from me, at a
time that I had begun to shew my fondness for her, in a manner that I
thought would have been agreeable to her and virtue.
I pulled out of my pocket the gipsy letter; but I said, before I shewed
it to him, I have this letter, sir, to shew you, as what, I believe,
you will allow must have given me the greatest disturbance: but, first,
as I know not who is the writer, and it seems to be in a disguised
hand, I would beg it as a favour, that, if you guess who it is, which I
cannot, it may not turn to their prejudice, because it was written,
very probably, with no other view, than to serve me.
He took it, and read it. And it being signed Somebody, he said, Yes,
this is indeed from Somebody; and, disguised as the hand is, I know the
writer: Don’t you see, by the setness of some of these letters, and a
little secretary cut here and there, especially in that c, and that r,
that it is the hand of a person bred in the law-way? Why, Pamela, said
he, ’tis old Longman’s hand: an officious rascal as he is!—But I have
done with him. O sir, said I, it would be too insolent in me to offer
(so much am I myself overwhelmed with your goodness,) to defend any
body that you are angry with: Yet, sir, so far as they have incurred
your displeasure for my sake, and for no other want of duty or respect,
I could wish—But I dare not say more.
But, said he, as to the letter and the information it contains: Let me
know, Pamela, when you received this? On the Friday, sir, said I, that
you were gone to the wedding at Stamford.—How could it be conveyed to
you, said he, unknown to Mrs. Jewkes, when I gave her such a strict
charge to attend you, and you had promised me, that you would not throw
yourself in the way of such intelligence? For, said he, when I went to
Stamford, I knew, from a private intimation given me, that there would
be an attempt made to see you, or give you a letter, by somebody, if
not to get you away; but was not certain from what quarter, whether
from my sister Davers, Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, or John Arnold, or
your father; and as I was then but struggling with myself, whether to
give way to my honourable inclinations, or to free you, and let you go
to your father, that I might avoid the danger I found myself in of the
former; (for I had absolutely resolved never to wound again even your
ears with any proposals of a contrary nature;) that was the reason I
desired you to permit Mrs. Jewkes to be so much on her guard till I
came back, when I thought I should have decided this disputed point
within myself, between my pride and my inclinations.
This, good sir, said I, accounts well to me for your conduct in that
case, and for what you said to me and Mrs. Jewkes on that occasion: And
I see more and more how much I may depend upon your honour and goodness
to me.—But I will tell you all the truth. And then I recounted to him
the whole affair of the gipsy, and how the letter was put among the
loose grass, etc. And he said, The man who thinks a thousand dragons
sufficient to watch a woman, when her inclination takes a contrary
bent, will find all too little; and she will engage the stones in the
street, or the grass in the field, to act for her, and help on her
correspondence. If the mind, said he, be not engaged, I see there is
hardly any confinement sufficient for the body; and you have told me a
very pretty story; and, as you never gave me any reason to question
your veracity, even in your severest trials, I make no doubt of the
truth of what you have now mentioned: and I will, in my turn, give you
such a proof of mine, that you shall find it carry a conviction with
it.
You must know, then, my Pamela, that I had actually formed such a
project, so well informed was this old rascally Somebody! and the time
was fixed for the very person described in this letter to be here; and
I had thought he should have read some part of the ceremony (as little
as was possible, to deceive you) in my chamber; and so I hoped to have
you mine upon terms that then would have been much more agreeable to me
than real matrimony. And I did not in haste intend you the
mortification of being undeceived; so that we might have lived for
years, perhaps, very lovingly together; and I had, at the same time,
been at liberty to confirm or abrogate it as I pleased.
O sir, said I, I am out of breath with the thoughts of my danger! But
what good angel prevented the execution of this deep-laid design?
Why, your good angel, Pamela, said he; for when I began to consider,
that it would have made you miserable, and me not happy; that if you
should have a dear little one, it would be out of my own power to
legitimate it, if I should wish it to inherit my estate; and that, as I
am almost the last of my family, and most of what I possess must
descend to a strange line, and disagreeable and unworthy persons;
notwithstanding that I might, in this case, have issue of my own body;
when I further considered your untainted virtue, what dangers and
trials you had undergone by my means, and what a world of troubles I
had involved you in, only because you were beautiful and virtuous,
which had excited all my passion for you; and reflected also upon your
tried prudence and truth! I, though I doubted not effecting this my
last plot, resolved to overcome myself; and, however I might suffer in
struggling with my affection for you, to part with you, rather than to
betray you under so black a veil. Besides, said he, I remember how much
I had exclaimed against and censured an action of this kind, that had
been attributed to one of the first men of the law, and of the kingdom,
as he afterwards became; and that it was but treading in a path that
another had marked out for me; and, as I was assured, with no great
satisfaction to himself, when he came to reflect; my foolish pride was
a little piqued with this, because I loved to be, if I went out of the
way, my own original, as I may call it. On all these considerations it
was, that I rejected this project, and sent word to the person, that I
had better considered of the matter, and would not have him come, till
he heard further from me: And, in this suspense I suppose, some of your
confederates, Pamela, (for we have been a couple of plotters, though
your virtue and merit have procured you faithful friends and partisans,
which my money and promises could hardly do,) one way or other got
knowledge of it, and gave you this notice; but, perhaps, it would have
come too late, had not your white angel got the better of my black one,
and inspired me with resolutions to abandon the project, just as it was
to have been put into execution. But yet I own, that, from these
appearances, you were but too well justified in your fears, on this odd
way of coming at this intelligence; and I have only one thing to blame
you for, that though I was resolved not to hear you in your own
defence, yet, as you have so ready a talent at your pen, you might have
cleared your part of this matter up to me by a line or two; and when I
had known what seeming good grounds you had for pouring cold water on a
young flame, that was just then rising to an honourable expansion,
should not have imputed it, as I was apt to do, to unseasonable insult
for my tenderness to you, on one hand; to perverse nicety, on the
other; or to (what I was most alarmed by, and concerned for)
prepossession for some other person: And this would have saved us both
much fatigue, I of mind, you of body.