important, may I not say one word about to-morrow?—Sir, said I, I hope
I shall be less a fool: I have talked as harshly to my heart, as Lady
Davers can do; and the naughty thing suggests to me a better, and more
grateful behaviour.
He smiled, and, kissing me, said, I took notice, Pamela, of what you
observed, that you have none of your own sex with you; I think it is a
little hard upon you; and I should have liked you should have had Miss
Darnford; but then her sister must have been asked; and I might as well
make a public wedding: which, you know, would have required clothes and
other preparations. Besides, added he, a foolish proposal was once made
me of that second sister, who has two or three thousand pounds more
than the other, left her by a godmother, and she can’t help being a
little piqued; though, said he, it was a proposal they could not expect
should succeed; for there is nothing in her person nor mind; and her
fortune, as that must have been the only inducement, would not do by
any means; and so I discouraged it at once.
I am thinking, sir, said I, of another mortifying thing too; that were
you to marry a lady of birth and fortune answerable to your own, all
the eve to the day would be taken up in reading, signing, and sealing
of settlements, and portion, and such like: But now the poor Pamela
brings you nothing at all: And the very clothes she wears, so very low
is she, are entirely the effects of your bounty, and that of your good
mother: This makes me a little sad: For, alas! sir, I am so much
oppressed by your favours, and the sense of the obligations I lie
under, that I cannot look up with the confidence that I otherwise
should, on this awful occasion.
There is, my dear Pamela, said he, where the power is wanting, as much
generosity in the will as in the action. To all that know your story,
and your merit, it will appear that I cannot recompense you for what I
have made you suffer. You have had too many hard struggles and
exercises; and have nobly overcome: and who shall grudge you the reward
of the hard-bought victory?—This affair is so much the act of my own
will, that I glory in being capable of distinguishing so much
excellence; and my fortune is the more pleasurable to me, as it gives
me hope, that I may make you some part of satisfaction for what you
have undergone.
This, sir, said I, is all goodness, unmerited on my side; and makes my
obligations the greater. I can only wish for more worthiness.—But how
poor is it to offer nothing but words for such generous deeds!—And to
say, I wish!—For what is a wish, but the acknowledged want of power to
oblige, and a demonstration of one’s poverty in every thing but will?
And that, my dear girl, said he, is every thing: ’Tis all I want: ’Tis
all that Heaven itself requires of us: But no more of these little
doubts, though they are the natural impulses of a generous and grateful
heart: I want not to be employed in settlements. Those are for such to
regard, who make convenience and fortune the prime considerations. I
have possessions ample enough for us both; and you deserve to share
them with me; and you shall do it, with as little reserve, as if you
had brought me what the world reckons an equivalent: for, as to my own
opinion, you bring me what is infinitely more valuable, an experienced
truth, a well-tried virtue, and a wit and behaviour more than equal to
the station you will be placed in: To say nothing of this sweet person,
that itself might captivate a monarch; and of the meekness of temper,
and sweetness of disposition, which make you superior to all the women
I ever saw.
Thus kind and soothing, and honourably affectionate, was the dear
gentleman, to the unworthy, doubting, yet assured Pamela; and thus
patiently did he indulge, and generously pardon, my impertinent
weakness. He offered to go himself to Lady Jones, in the morning, and
reveal the matter to her, and desire her secrecy and presence; but I
said, That would disoblige the young Ladies Darnford. No, sir, said I,
I will cast myself upon your generous kindness; for why should I fear
the kind protector of my weakness, and the guide and director of my
future steps?
You cannot, said he, forgive Mrs. Jewkes; for she must know it; and
suffer her to be with you? Yes, sir, said I, I can. She is very civil
to me now: and her former wickedness I will forgive, for the sake of
the happy fruits that have attended it; and because you mention her.
Well, said he, I will call her in, if you please.—As you please, sir,
said I. And he rung for her; and when she came in, he said, Mrs.
Jewkes, I am going to entrust you with a secret. Sir, answered she, I
will be sure to keep it as such. Why, said he, we intend to-morrow,
privately as possible, for our wedding-day; and Mr. Peters and Mr.
Williams are to be here, as to breakfast with me, and to shew Mr.
Peters my little chapel. As soon as the ceremony is over, we will take
a little airing in the chariot, as we have done at other times; and so
it will not be wondered that we are dressed. And the two parsons have
promised secrecy, and will go home. I believe you can’t well avoid
letting one of the maids into the secret; but that I’ll leave to you.
Sir, replied she, we all concluded it would be in a few days! and I
doubt it won’t be long a secret. No, said he, I don’t desire it should;
but you know we are not provided for a public wedding, and I shall
declare it when we go to Bedfordshire, which won’t be long. But the
men, who lie in the outhouses, need not know it; for, by some means or
other, my sister Davers knows all that passes.
Do you know, sir, said she, that her ladyship intends to be down here
with you in a few days? Her servant told me so, who brought you the
letter you were angry at.
I hope, said he, we shall be set out for t’other house first; and shall
be pleased she loses her labour. Sir, continued she, her ladyship,
proposes to be here time enough to hinder your nuptials, which she
takes, as we did, will be the latter end of next week. Well, said he,
let her come: but yet I desire not to see her.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Give me leave, madam, to wish you all manner of
happiness: But I am afraid I have too well obeyed his honour, to be
forgiven by you. Indeed, Mrs. Jewkes, returned I, you will be more your
own enemy than I will be. I will look all forward: and shall not
presume, so much as by a whisper, to set my good master against any one
he pleases to approve of: And as to his old servants, I shall always
value them, and never offer to dictate to his choice, or influence it
by my own caprices.
Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, you find you have no cause to apprehend
any thing. My Pamela is very placable; and as we have both been sinners
together, we must both be included in one act of grace.
Such an example of condescension, as I have before me, Mrs. Jewkes,
said I, may make you very easy; for I must be highly unworthy, if I did
not forego all my little resentments, if I had any, for the sake of so
much goodness to myself.
You are very kind, madam, said she; and you may depend upon it, I will
atone for all my faults, by my future duty and respect to you, as well
as to my master.
That’s well said on both sides, said he: but, Mrs. Jewkes, to assure
you, that my good girl here has no malice, she chooses you to attend
her in the morning at the ceremony, and you must keep up her spirits.—I
shall, replied she, be very proud of the honour: But I cannot, madam,
but wonder to see you so very low-spirited, as you have been these two
or three days past, with so much happiness before you.
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I, there can be but one reason given; and
that is, that I am a sad fool!—But, indeed, I am not ungrateful
neither; nor would I put on a foolish affectation: But my heart, at
times, sinks within me; I know not why, except at my own unworthiness,
and because the honour done me is too high for me to support myself
under, as I should do. It is an honour, Mrs. Jewkes, added I, I was not
born to; and no wonder, then, I behave so awkwardly. She made me a fine
compliment upon it, and withdrew, repeating her promises of care,
secrecy, etc.
He parted from me with very great tenderness; and I came up and set to
writing, to amuse my thoughts, and wrote thus far. And Mrs. Jewkes
being come up, and it being past twelve, I will go to bed; but not one
wink, I fear, shall I get this night.—I could beat myself for anger.
Sure there is nothing ominous in this strange folly!—But I suppose all
young maidens are the same, so near so great a change of condition,
though they carry it off more discreetly than I.
Thursday, six o’clock in the morning.
I might as well have not gone to bed last night, for what sleep I had.
Mrs. Jewkes often was talking to me, and said several things that would
have been well enough from any body else of our sex; but the poor woman
has so little purity of heart, that it is all say from her, and goes no
farther than the ear.
I fancy my master has not slept much neither; for I heard him up, and
walking about his chamber, ever since break of day. To be sure, good
gentleman! he must have some concern, as well as I; for here he is
going to marry a poor foolish unworthy girl, brought up on the charity,
as one may say, (at least bounty,) of his worthy family! And this
foolish girl must be, to all intents and purposes, after twelve o’clock
this day, as much his wife, as if he were to marry a duchess!—And here
he must stand the shocks of common reflection! The great Mr. B—— has
done finely! he has married his poor servant wench! will some say. The
ridicule and rude jests of his equals, and companions too, he must
stand: And the disdain of his relations, and indignation of Lady
Davers, his lofty sister! Dear good gentleman! he will have enough to
do, to be sure! O how shall I merit all these things at his hand! I can
only do the best I can; and pray to God to reward him; and resolve to
love him with a pure heart, and serve him with a sincere obedience. I
hope the dear gentleman will continue to love me for this; for, alas! I
have nothing else to offer! But, as I can hardly expect so great a
blessing, if I can be secure from his contempt, I shall not be
unfortunate; and must bear his indifference, if his rich friends should
inspire him with it, and proceed with doing my duty with cheerfulness.
Half an hour past eight o’clock.
My good dear master, my kind friend, my generous benefactor, my worthy
protector, and, oh! all the good words in one, my affectionate husband,
that is soon to be—(be curbed in, my proud heart, know thy self, and be
conscious of thy unworthiness!)—has just left me, with the kindest,
tenderest expressions, and gentlest behaviour, that ever blest a happy
maiden. He approached me with a sort of reined-in rapture. My Pamela!
said he, May I just ask after your employment? Don’t let me chide my
dear girl this day, however. The two parsons will be here to breakfast
with us at nine; and yet you are not a bit dressed! Why this absence of
mind, and sweet irresolution?
Why, indeed, sir, said I, I will set about a reformation this instant.
He saw the common-prayer book lying in the window. I hope, said he, my
lovely maiden has been conning the lesson she is by-and-by to repeat.
Have you not, Pamela? and clasped his arms about me, and kissed me.
Indeed, sir, said I, I have been reading over the solemn service.—And
what thinks my fairest (for so he called me) of it?—O sir, ’tis very
awful, and makes one shudder, to reflect upon it!—No wonder, said he,
it should affect my sweet Pamela: I have been looking into it this
morning, and I can’t say but I think it a solemn, but very suitable
service. But this I tell my dear love, continued he, and again clasped
me to him, there is not a tittle in it that I cannot joyfully subscribe
to: And that, my dear Pamela, should make you easy, and join cheerfully
in it with me. I kissed his dear hand: O my generous, kind protector,
said I, how gracious is it to confirm thus the doubting mind of your
poor servant! which apprehends nothing so much as her own unworthiness
of the honour and blessing that await her!—He was pleased to say, I
know well, my dearest creature, that, according to the liberties we
people of fortune generally give ourselves, I have promised a great
deal, when I say so. But I would not have said it, if, deliberately, I
could not with all my heart. So banish from your mind all doubt and
uneasiness; let a generous confidence in me take place; and let me see
it does, by your cheerfulness in this day’s solemn business; and then I
will love you for ever!
May God Almighty, sir, said I, reward all your goodness to me!—That is
all I can say. But, oh! how kind it is in you, to supply the want of
the presence and comfortings of a dear mother, of a loving sister, or
of the kind companions of my own sex, which most maidens have, to
soothe their anxieties on the so near approach of so awful a
solemnity!—You, sir, are all these tender relations in one to me! Your
condescensions and kindness shall, if possible, embolden me to look up
to you without that sweet terror, that must confound poor bashful
maidens, on such an occasion, when they are surrendered up to a more
doubtful happiness, and to half-strange men, whose good faith, and good
usage of them, must be less experienced, and is all involved in the
dark bosom of futurity, and only to be proved by the event.
This, my dear Pamela, said he, is most kindly said! It shews me that
you enter gratefully into my intention. For I would, by my conduct,
supply all these dear relations to you; and I voluntarily promise, from
my heart, to you, what I think I could not, with such assured
resolutions of performance, to the highest-born lady in the kingdom.
For let me tell my sweet girl, that, after having been long tossed by
the boisterous winds of a more culpable passion, I have now conquered
it, and am not so much the victim of your beauty, all charming as you
are, as of your virtue; and therefore may more boldly promise for
myself, having so stable a foundation for my affection; which, should
this outward beauty fail, will increase with your virtue, and shine
forth the brighter, as that is more illustriously displayed by the
augmented opportunities which the condition you are now entering into
will afford you.—O the dear charming man! how nobly, how encouragingly
kind, was all this!
I could not suitably express myself: And he said, I see my girl is at a
loss for words! I doubt not your kind acceptance of my declarations.
And when I have acted too much the part of a libertine formerly, for
you to look back without some anxiety, I ought not, being now happily
convicted, to say less.—But why loses my girl her time? I will now only
add, that I hope for many happy years to make good, by my conduct, what
so willingly flows from my lips.
He kissed me again, and said, But, whatever you do, Pamela, be
cheerful; for else, may be, of the small company we shall have, some
one, not knowing how to account for your too nice modesty, will think
there is some other person in the world, whose addresses would be still
more agreeable to you.
This he said with an air of sweetness and pleasantry; but it alarmed me
exceedingly, and made me resolve to appear as calm and cheerful as
possible. For this was, indeed, a most affecting expression, and enough
to make me, if any thing can, behave as I ought, and to force my idle
fears to give way to hopes so much better grounded.—And I began almost,
on this occasion, to wish Mr. Williams were not to marry me, lest I
should behave like a fool; and so be liable to an imputation, which I
should be most unworthy, if I deserved.
So I set about dressing me instantly; and he sent Mrs. Jewkes to assist
me. But I am never long a dressing, when I set about it; and my master
has now given me a hint, that will, for half an hour more, at least,
keep my spirits in a brisk circulation. Yet it concerns me a little
too, lest he should have any the least shadow of a doubt, that I am
not, mind and person, entirely his.
And so being now ready, and not called to breakfast, I sat down and
wrote thus far.
I might have mentioned, that I dressed myself in a rich white satin
night-gown, that had been my good lady’s, and my best head-clothes,
etc. I have got such a knack of writing, that when I am by myself, I
cannot sit without a pen in my hand.—But I am now called to breakfast.
I suppose the gentlemen are come.—Now, courage, Pamela! Remember thou
art upon thy good behaviour!—Fie upon it! my heart begins to flutter
again!—Foolish heart! be still! Never, sure, was any maiden’s perverse
heart under so little command as mine!—It gave itself away, at first,
without my leave; it has been, for weeks, pressing me with its wishes;
and yet now, when it should be happy itself, and make me so, it is
throb, throb, throb, like a little fool! and filling me with such
unseasonable misgivings, as abate the rising comforts of all my better
prospects.
Thursday, near three o’clock.
I thought I should have found no time nor heart to write again this
day. But here are three gentlemen come, unexpectedly, to dine with my
master; and so I shall not appear. He has done all he could, civilly,
to send them away; but they will stay, though I believe he had rather
they would not. And so I have nothing to do but to write till I go to
dinner myself with Mrs. Jewkes: for my master was not prepared for this
company; and it will be a little latish to-day. So I will begin with my
happy story where I left off.
When I came down to breakfast, Mr. Peters and Mr. Williams were both
there. And as soon as my master heard me coming down, he met me at the
door, and led me in with great tenderness. He had kindly spoken to
them, as he told me afterwards, to mention no more of the matter to me,
than needs must. I paid my respects to them, I believe a little
awkwardly, and was almost out of breath: but said, I had come down a
little too fast.
When Abraham came in to wait, my master said, (that the servants should
not mistrust,) ’Tis well, gentlemen, you came as you did; for my good
girl and I were going to take an airing till dinner-time. I hope you’ll
stay and dine with me. Sir, said Mr. Peters, we won’t hinder your
airing. I only came, having a little time upon my hands, to see your
chapel; but must be at home at dinner; and Mr. Williams will dine with
me. Well then, said my master, we will pursue our intention, and ride
out for an hour or two, as soon as I have shewn Mr. Peters my little
chapel. Will you, Pamela, after breakfast, walk with us to it? If, if,
said I, and had like to have stammered, foolish that I was! if you
please, sir. I could look none of them in the face. Abraham looking at
me; Why, child, said my master, you have hardly recovered your fright
yet: how came your foot to slip? ’Tis well you did not hurt yourself.
Said Mr. Peters, improving the hint, You ha’n’t sprained your ancle,
madam, I hope. No, sir, said I, I believe not; but ’tis a little
painful to me. And so it was; for I meant my foolishness! Abraham, said
my master, bid Robin put the horses to the coach, instead of the
chariot; and if these gentlemen will go, we can set them down. No
matter, sir, said Mr. Peters: I had as lieve walk, if Mr. Williams
chooses it. Well then, said my master, let it be the chariot, as I told
him.
I could eat nothing, though I attempted it; and my hand shook so, I
spilled some of my chocolate, and so put it down again; and they were
all very good, and looked another way. My master said, when Abraham was
out, I have a quite plain ring here, Mr. Peters: And I hope the
ceremony will dignify the ring; and that I shall give my girl reason to
think it, for that cause, the most valuable one that can be presented
her. Mr. Peters said, He was sure I should value it more than the
richest diamond in the world.
I had bid Mrs. Jewkes not to dress herself, lest she should give cause
of mistrust; and she took my advice.
When breakfast was over, my master said, before Abraham, Well,
gentlemen, we will step into the chapel; and you must give me your
advice, as to the alterations I design. I am in the more haste, because
the survey you are going to take of it, for the alterations, will take
up a little time; and we shall have but a small space between that and
dinner, for the little tour I design to make.—Pamela, you’ll give us
your opinion, won’t you? Yes, sir, said I; I’ll come after you.
So they went out, and I sat down in the chair again, and fanned myself:
I am sick at heart, said I, I think, Mrs. Jewkes. Said she, Shall I
fetch you a little cordial?—No, said I, I am a sad fool! I want
spirits, that’s all. She took her smelling-bottle, and would have given
it me: but I said, Keep it in your hand; may be I shall want it: but I
hope not.
She gave me very good words, and begged me to go: And I got up; but my
knees beat so against one another, I was forced to sit down again. But,
at last, I held by her arm, and passing by Abraham, I said, This ugly
slip, coming down stairs, has made me limp, though; so I must hold by
you, Mrs. Jewkes. Do you know what alterations there are to be in the
chapel, that we must all give our opinions of them?
Nan, she told me, was let into the secret; and she had ordered her to
stay at the chapel door, to see that nobody came in. My dear master
came to me, at entering the chapel, and took my hand, and led me up to
the altar. Remember, my dear girl, whispered he, and be cheerful. I am,
I will, sir, said I; but I hardly knew what I said; and so you may
believe, when I said to Mrs. Jewkes, Don’t leave me; pray, Mrs. Jewkes,
don’t leave me; as if I had all confidence in her, and none where it
was most due. So she kept close to me. God forgive me! but I never was
so absent in my life, as at first; even till Mr. Williams had gone on
in the service, so far as to the awful words about requiring us, as we
should answer at the dreadful day of judgment; and then the solemn
words, and my master’s whispering, Mind this, my dear, made me start.
Said he, still whispering, Know you any impediment? I blushed, and said
softly, None, sir, but my great unworthiness.
Then followed the sweet words, Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded
wife? etc. and I began to take heart a little, when my dearest master
answered, audibly, to this question, I will. But I could only make a
courtesy, when they asked me; though, I am sure, my heart was readier
than my speech, and answered to every article of obey, serve, love, and
honour.
Mr. Peters gave me away; and I said, after Mr. Williams, as well as I
could, as my dear master did with a much better grace, the words of
betrothment; and the ceremony of the ring passing next, I received the
dear favour at his worthy hands with a most grateful heart; and he was
pleased to say afterwards in the chariot, that when he had done saying,
With this ring I thee wed, etc. I made a courtesy, and said, Thank you,
sir. May be I did; for I am sure it was a most grateful part of the
service, and my heart was overwhelmed with his goodness, and the tender
grace wherewith he performed it. I was very glad, that the next part
was the prayer, and kneeling; for I trembled so, I could hardly stand,
betwixt fear and joy.
The joining of our hands afterwards, the declaration of our being
married to the few witnesses present; for, reckoning Nan, whose
curiosity would not let her stay at the door, there were but Mr.
Peters, Mrs. Jewkes, and she; the blessing, the psalm, and the
subsequent prayers, and the concluding exhortation; were so many
beautiful, welcome, and lovely parts of this divine office, that my
heart began to be delighted with them; and my spirits to be a little
freer.
And thus, my dearest, dear parents, is your happy, happy, thrice happy
Pamela, at last married; and to whom?—Why, to her beloved, gracious
master! the lord of her wishes! And thus the dear, once naughty
assailer of her innocence, by a blessed turn of Providence, is become
the kind, the generous protector and rewarder of it. God be evermore
blessed and praised! and make me not wholly unworthy of such a
transcendent honour!—And bless and reward the dear, dear, good
gentleman, who has thus exalted his unworthy servant, and given her a
place, which the greatest ladies would think themselves happy in!