score mouths, with more pleasure than her heart will easily let her
express.
My good Lady Davers’s favour, said I, and the continuance of yours,
sir, would give me more pride than that of all the rest of the world
put together.
Well, child, said she, proud hearts don’t come down all at once; though
my brother, here, has this day set mine a good many pegs lower than I
ever knew it: But I will say, I wish you joy with my brother; and so
kissed me.
My dear lady, said I, you for ever oblige me!—I shall now believe
myself quite happy. This was all I wanted to make me so!—And I hope I
shall always, through my life, shew your ladyship, that I have the most
grateful and respectful sense of your goodness.
But, child, said she, I shall not give you my company when you make
your appearance. Let your own merit make all your Bedfordshire
neighbours your friends, as it has done here, by your Lincolnshire
ones; and you’ll have no need of my countenance, nor any body’s else.
Now, said her nephew, ’tis my turn: I wish you joy with all my soul,
madam; and, by what I have seen, and by what I have heard, ‘fore Gad, I
think you have met with no more than you deserve; and so all the
company says, where we have been: And pray forgive all my nonsense to
you.
Sir, said I, I shall always, I hope, respect as I ought, so near a
relation of my good Lord and Lady Davers; and I thank you for your kind
compliment.
Gad, Beck, said he, I believe you’ve some forgiveness too to ask; for
we were all to blame, to make madam, here, fly the pit, as she did.
Little did we think we made her quit her own house.
Thou always, said my lady, sayest too much, or too little.
Mrs. Worden said, I have been treated with so much goodness and
condescension since you went, that I have been beforehand, sir, in
asking pardon myself.
So my lady sat down with me half an hour, and told me, that her brother
had carried her a fine airing, and had quite charmed her with his kind
treatment of her; and had much confirmed her in the good opinion she
had begun to entertain of my discreet and obliging behaviour: But,
continued she, when he would make me visit, without intending to stay,
my old neighbours, (for, said she, Lady Jones being nearest, we visited
her first; and she scraped all the rest of the company together,) they
were all so full of your praises, that I was quite borne down; and,
truly, it was Saul among the prophets!
You may believe how much I was delighted with this; and I spared not my
due acknowledgments.
When her ladyship took leave, to go to bed, she said, Goodnight to you,
heartily, and to your good man. I kissed you when I came in, out of
form; but I now kiss you out of more than form, I’ll assure you.
Join with me, my dear parents, in my joy for this happy turn; the
contrary of which I so much dreaded, and was the only difficulty I had
to labour with. This poor Miss Sally Godfrey, I wonder what’s become of
her, poor soul! I wish he would, of his own head, mention her
again.—Not that I am very uneasy, neither.—You’ll say, I must be a
little saucy, if I was.
My dear master gave me an account, when we went up, of the pains he had
taken with his beloved sister, as he himself styled her; and of all the
kind things the good families had said in my behalf; and that he
observed she was not so much displeased with hearing them, as she was
at first; when she would not permit any body to speak of me as his
wife: And that my health, as his spouse, being put; when it came to
her, she drank it; but said, Come, brother, here’s your Pamela to you:
But I shall not know how to stand this affair, when the Countess——, and
the young ladies, come to visit me. One of these young ladies was the
person she was so fond of promoting a match for, with her brother.—Lady
Betty, I know, she said, will rally me smartly upon it; and you know,
brother, she wants neither wit nor satire. He said, I hope, Lady Betty,
whenever she marries, will meet with a better husband than I should
have made her; for, in my conscience, I think I should hardly have made
a tolerable one to any but Pamela.
He told me that they rallied him on the stateliness of his temper; and
said, They saw he would make an exceeding good husband where he was;
but it must be owing to my meekness, more than to his complaisance;
for, said Miss Darnford, I could see well enough, when your ladyship
detained her, though he had but hinted his desire of finding her at our
house, he was so out of humour at her supposed noncompliance, that mine
and my sister’s pity for her was much more engaged, than our envy.
Ay, said my lady, he is too lordly a creature, by much; and can’t bear
disappointment, nor ever could.
Said he, Well, Lady Davers, you should not, of all persons, find fault
with me; for I bore a great deal from you, before I was at all angry.
Yes, replied she: but when I had gone a little too far, as I own I did,
you made me pay for it severely enough! You know you did, sauce-box.
And the poor thing too, added she, that I took with me for my advocate,
so low had he brought me! he treated her in such a manner as made my
heart ache for her: But part was art, I know, to make me think the
better of her.
Indeed, sister, said he, there was very little of that; for, at that
time, I cared not what you thought, nor had complaisance enough to have
given a shilling for your good or bad opinion of her or me. And, I own,
I was displeased to be broken in upon, after your provocations, by
either of you and she must learn that lesson, never to come near me,
when I am in those humours; which shall be as little as possible: For,
after a while, if let alone, I always come to myself, and am sorry for
the violence of a temper, so like my dear sister’s here: And, for this
reason think it is no matter how few witnesses I have of its
intemperance, while it lasts; especially since every witness, whether
they merit it or not, as you see in my Pamela’s case, must be a
sufferer by it, if, unsent for, they come in my way.
He repeated the same lesson to me again, and enforced it and owned,
that he was angry with me in earnest, just then; though more with
himself, afterwards, for being so: But when, Pamela, said he, you
wanted to transfer all my displeasure upon yourself, it was so much
braving me with your merit, as if I must soon end my anger, if placed
there; or it was making it so light to you, that I was truly
displeased: for, continued he, I cannot bear that you should wish, on
any occasion whatever, to have me angry with you, or not to value my
displeasure as the heaviest misfortune that could befall you.
But, sir, said I, you know, that what I did was to try to reconcile my
lady; and, as she herself observed, it was paying her a high regard. It
was so, replied he; but never think of making a compliment to her, or
any body living, at my expense. Besides, she had behaved herself so
intolerably, that I began to think you had stooped too much, and more
than I ought to permit my wife to do; and acts of meanness are what I
can’t endure in any body, but especially where I love: and as she had
been guilty of a very signal one, I had much rather have renounced her
at that time, than have been reconciled to her.
Sir, said I, I hope I shall always comport myself so, as not wilfully
to disoblige you for the future; and the rather do I hope this, as I am
sure I shall want only to know your pleasure to obey it. But this
instance shews me, that I may much offend, without designing it in the
least.
Now, Pamela, replied he, don’t be too serious: I hope I shan’t be a
very tyrannical husband to you: Yet do I not pretend to be perfect, or
to be always governed by reason in my first transports; and I expect,
from your affection, that you will bear with me when you find me wrong.
I have no ungrateful spirit, and can, when cool, enter as impartially
into myself as most men; and then I am always kind and acknowledging,
in proportion as I have been out of the way.
But to convince you, my dear, continued he, of your fault, (I mean,
with regard to the impetuosity of my temper; for there was no fault in
your intention, that I acknowledge,) I’ll observe only, that you met,
when you came to me, while I was so out of humour, a reception you did
not expect, and a harsh word or two that you did not deserve. Now, had
you not broken in upon me while my anger lasted, but staid till I had
come to you, or sent to desire your company, you’d have seen none of
this; but that affectionate behaviour, which I doubt not you’ll always
merit, and I shall always take pleasure in expressing: and in this
temper shall you always find a proper influence over me: But you must
not suppose, whenever I am out of humour, that, in opposing yourself to
my passion, you oppose a proper butt to it; but when you are so good,
like the slender reed, to bend to the hurricane, rather than, like the
sturdy oak, to resist it, you will always stand firm in my kind
opinion, while a contrary conduct would uproot you, with all your
excellencies, from my soul.
Sir, said I, I will endeavour to conform myself, in all things, to your
will. I make no doubt but you will: and I’ll endeavour to make my will
as conformable to reason as I can. And let me tell you, that this
belief of you is one of the inducements I have had to marry at all: for
nobody was more averse to this state than myself; and, now we are upon
this subject, I’ll tell you why I was so averse.
We people of fortune, or such as are born to large expectations, of
both sexes, are generally educated wrong. You have occasionally touched
upon this, Pamela, several times in your journal, so justly, that I
need say the less to you. We are usually so headstrong, so violent in
our wills, that we very little bear control.
Humoured by our nurses, through the faults of our parents, we practise
first upon them; and shew the gratitude of our dispositions, in an
insolence that ought rather to be checked and restrained, than
encouraged.
Next, we are to be indulged in every thing at school; and our masters
and mistresses are rewarded with further grateful instances of our
boisterous behaviour.
But, in our wise parents’ eyes, all looks well, all is forgiven and
excused; and for no other reason, but because we are theirs.
Our next progression is, we exercise our spirits, when brought home, to
the torment and regret of our parents themselves, and torture their
hearts by our undutiful and perverse behaviour to them, which, however
ungrateful in us, is but the natural consequence of their culpable
indulgence to us, from infancy upwards.
And then, next, after we have, perhaps, half broken their hearts, a
wife is looked out for: convenience, or birth, or fortune, are the
first motives, affection the last (if it is at all consulted): and two
people thus educated, thus trained up, in a course of unnatural
ingratitude, and who have been headstrong torments to every one who has
had a share in their education, as well as to those to whom they owe
their being, are brought together; and what can be expected, but that
they should pursue, and carry on, the same comfortable conduct in
matrimony, and join most heartily to plague one another? And, in some
measure, indeed, this is right; because hereby they revenge the cause
of all those who have been aggrieved and insulted by them, upon one
another.
The gentleman has never been controlled: the lady has never been
contradicted.
He cannot bear it from one whose new relation, he thinks, should oblige
her to shew a quite contrary conduct.
She thinks it very barbarous, now, for the first time, to be opposed in
her will, and that by a man from whom she expected nothing but
tenderness.
So great is the difference between what they both expect from one
another, and what they both find in each other, that no wonder
misunderstandings happen; that these ripen to quarrels; that acts of
unkindness pass, which, even had the first motive to their union been
affection, as usually it is not, would have effaced all manner of
tender impressions on both sides.
Appeals to parents or guardians often ensue. If, by mediation of
friends, a reconciliation takes place, it hardly ever holds: for why?
The fault is in the minds of both, and neither of them will think so;
so that the wound (not permitted to be probed) is but skinned over, and
rankles still at the bottom, and at last breaks out with more pain and
anguish than before. Separate beds are often the consequence; perhaps
elopements: if not, an unconquerable indifference, possibly aversion.
And whenever, for appearance-sake, they are obliged to be together,
every one sees, that the yawning husband, and the vapourish wife, are
truly insupportable to one another; but separate, have freer spirits,
and can be tolerable company.
Now, my dear, I would have you think, and I hope you will have no other
reason, that had I married the first lady in the land, I would not have
treated her better than I will my Pamela. For my wife is my wife; and I
was the longer in resolving on the state, because I knew its
requisites, and doubted my conduct in it.
I believe I am more nice than many gentlemen; but it is because I have
been a close observer of the behaviour of wedded folks, and hardly ever
have seen it to be such as I could like in my own case. I shall,
possibly, give you instances of a more particular nature of this, as we
are longer, and, perhaps, I might say, better acquainted.
Had I married with the views of many gentlemen, and with such as my
good sister (supplying the place of my father and mother,) would have
recommended, I had wedded a fine lady, brought up pretty much in my own
manner, and used to have her will in every thing.
Some gentlemen can come into a compromise; and, after a few struggles,
sit down tolerably contented. But, had I married a princess, I could
not have done so. I must have loved her exceedingly well, before I had
consented to knit the knot with her, and preferred her to all her sex;
for without this, Pamela, indifferences, if not disgusts, will arise in
every wedded life, that could not have made me happy at home; and there
are fewer instances, I believe, of men’s loving better, after
matrimony, than of women’s; the reason of which ’tis not my present
purpose to account for.
Then I must have been morally sure, that she preferred me to all men;
and, to convince me of this, she must have lessened, not aggravated, my
failings: She must have borne with my imperfections; she must have
watched and studied my temper; and if ever she had any points to carry,
any desire of overcoming, it must have been by sweetness and
complaisance; and yet not such a slavish one, as should make her
condescension seem to be rather the effect of her insensibility, than
judgment or affection.
She should not have given cause for any part of my conduct to her to
wear the least aspect of compulsion or force. The word command, on my
side, or obedience on hers, I would have blotted from my vocabulary.
For this reason I should have thought it my duty to have desired
nothing of her, that was not significant, reasonable, or just; and that
then she should, on hers, have shewn no reluctance, uneasiness, or
doubt, to oblige me, even at half a word.
I would not have excused her to let me twice enjoin the same thing,
while I took so much care to make her compliance with me reasonable,
and such as should not destroy her own free agency, in points that
ought to be allowed her: And if I was not always right, that yet she
would bear with me, if she saw me set upon it; and expostulate with me
on the right side of compliance; for that would shew me, (supposing
small points in dispute, from which the greatest quarrels, among
friends, generally arise,) that she differed from me, not for
contradiction-sake, but desired to convince me for my own; and that I
should, another time, take better resolutions.
This would be so obliging a conduct, that I should, in justice, have
doubled my esteem for one, who, to humour me, could give up her own
judgment; and I should see she could have no other view in her
expostulations, after her compliance had passed, than to rectify my
motions for the future; and it would have been impossible then, but I
must have paid the greater deference to her opinion and advice in more
momentous matters.
In all companies she must have shewn, that she had, whether I deserved
it altogether or not, a high regard and opinion of me; and this the
rather, as such a conduct in her would be a reputation and security to
herself: For if we rakes attempt a married lady, our first
encouragement, exclusive of our own vanity, arises from the indifferent
opinion, slight, or contempt, she expresses of her husband.
I should expect, therefore, that she should draw a kind veil over my
faults; that such as she could not hide, she would extenuate; that she
would place my better actions in an advantageous light, and shew that I
had her good opinion, at least, whatever liberties the world took with
my character.
She must have valued my friends for my sake; been cheerful and easy,
whomsoever I had brought home with me; and, whatever faults she had
observed in me, have never blamed me before company; at least, with
such an air of superiority, as should have shewn she had a better
opinion of her own judgment, than of mine.
Now, my Pamela, this is but a faint sketch of the conduct I must have
expected from my wife, let her quality have been what it would; or have
lived with her on bad terms. Judge then, if to me a lady of the modish
taste could have been tolerable.
The perverseness and contradiction I have too often seen, in some of my
visits, even among people of sense, as well as condition, had
prejudiced me to the married state; and, as I knew I could not bear it,
surely I was in the right to decline it: And you see, my dear, that I
have not gone among this class of people for a wife; nor know I,
indeed, where, in any class, I could have sought one, or had one
suitable to my mind, if not you: For here is my misfortune; I could not
have been contented to have been but moderately happy in a wife.
Judge you, from all this, if I could very well bear that you should
think yourself so well secured of my affection, that you could take the
faults of others upon yourself; and, by a supposed supererogatory
merit, think your interposition sufficient to atone for the faults of
others.
Yet am I not perfect myself: No, I am greatly imperfect. Yet will I not
allow, that my imperfections shall excuse those of my wife, or make her
think I ought to bear faults in her, that she can rectify, because she
bears greater from me.
Upon the whole, I may expect, that you will bear with me, and study my
temper, till, and only till, you see I am capable of returning insult
for obligation; and till you think, that I shall be of a gentler
deportment, if I am roughly used, than otherwise. One thing more I will
add, That I should scorn myself, if there was one privilege of your
sex, that a princess might expect, as my wife, to be indulged in, that
I would not allow to my Pamela; for you are the wife of my affections:
I never wished for one before you, nor ever do I hope to have another.
I hope, sir, said I, my future conduct—Pardon me, said he, my dear, for
interrupting you; but it is to assure you, that I am so well convinced
of your affectionate regard for me, that I know I might have spared the
greatest part of what I have said: And, indeed, it must be very bad for
both of us, if I should have reason to think it necessary to say so
much. But one thing has brought on another; and I have rather spoken
what my niceness has made me observe in other families, than what I
fear in my own. And, therefore, let me assure you, I am thoroughly
satisfied with your conduct hitherto. You shall have no occasion to
repent it: And you shall find, though greatly imperfect, and
passionate, on particular provocations, (which yet I will try to
overcome,) that you have not a brutal or ungenerous husband, who is
capable of offering insult for condescension, or returning evil for
good.
I thanked him for these kind rules, and generous assurances: and
assured him, that they had made so much impression on my mind, that
these, and his most agreeable injunctions before given me, and such as
he should hereafter be pleased to give me, should be so many rules for
my future behaviour.
And I am glad of the method I have taken of making a Journal of all
that passes in these first stages of my happiness, because it will sink
the impression still deeper; and I shall have recourse to them for my
better regulation, as often as I shall mistrust my memory.
Let me see: What are the rules I am to observe from this awful lecture?
Why these:
1. That I must not, when he is in great wrath with any body, break in
upon him without his leave. Well, I’ll remember it, I warrant. But yet
I think this rule is almost peculiar to himself.
2. That I must think his displeasure the heaviest thing that can befall
me. To be sure I shall.
3. And so that I must not wish to incur it, to save any body else. I’ll
be further if I do.
4. That I must never make a compliment to any body at his expense.
5. That I must not be guilty of any acts of wilful meanness. There is a
great deal meant in this; and I’ll endeavour to observe it all. To be
sure, the occasion on which he mentions this, explains it; that I must
say nothing, though in anger, that is spiteful or malicious; that is
disrespectful or undutiful, and such-like.
6. That I must bear with him, even when I find him in the wrong. This
is a little hard, as the case may be!
I wonder whether poor Miss Sally Godfrey be living or dead!
7. That I must be as flexible as the reed in the fable, lest, by
resisting the tempest, like the oak, I be torn up by the roots. Well,
I’ll do the best I can!—There is no great likelihood, I hope, that I
should be too perverse; yet sure, the tempest will not lay me quite
level with the ground, neither.
8. That the education of young people of condition is generally wrong.
Memorandum; That if any part of children’s education fall to my lot, I
never indulge and humour them in things that they ought to be
restrained in.
9. That I accustom them to bear disappointments and control.
10. That I suffer them not to be too much indulged in their infancy.
11. Nor at school.
12. Nor spoil them when they come home.
13. For that children generally extend their perverseness from the
nurse to the schoolmaster: from the schoolmaster to the parents:
14. And, in their next step, as a proper punishment for all, make their
ownselves unhappy.
15. That undutiful and perverse children make bad husbands and wives:
And, collaterally, bad masters and mistresses.
16. That, not being subject to be controlled early, they cannot, when
married, bear one another.
17. That the fault lying deep, and in the minds of each other, neither
will mend it.
18. Whence follow misunderstandings, quarrels, appeals, ineffectual
reconciliations, separations, elopements; or, at best, indifference;
perhaps, aversion.—Memorandum; A good image of unhappy wedlock, in the
words YAWNING HUSBAND, and VAPOURISH WIFE, when together: But separate,
both quite alive.
19. Few married persons behave as he likes. Let me ponder this with awe
and improvement.
20. Some gentlemen can compromise with their wives, for quietness sake;
but he can’t. Indeed I believe that’s true; I don’t desire he should.
21. That love before marriage is absolutely necessary.
22. That there are fewer instances of men’s than women’s loving better
after marriage. But why so? I wish he had given his reasons for this! I
fancy they would not have been to the advantage of his own sex.
23. That a woman give her husband reason to think she prefers him
before all men. Well, to be sure this should be so.
24. That if she would overcome, it must be by sweetness and
complaisance; that is, by yielding, he means, no doubt.
25. Yet not such a slavish one neither, as should rather seem the
effect of her insensibility, than judgment or affection.
26. That the words COMMAND and OBEY shall be blotted out of the
Vocabulary. Very good!
27. That a man should desire nothing of his wife, but what is
significant, reasonable, just. To be sure, that is right.
28. But then, that she must not shew reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt,
to oblige him; and that too at half a word; and must not be bid twice
to do one thing. But may not there be some occasions, where this may be
a little dispensed with? But he says afterwards, indeed,