reasonable, and consistent with her free agency, in points that ought
to be allowed her. Come, this is pretty well, considering.
30. That if the husband be set upon a wrong thing, she must not dispute
with him, but do it and, expostulate afterwards. Good sirs! I don’t
know what to say to this! It looks a little hard, methinks! This would
bear a smart debate, I fancy, in a parliament of women. But then he
says,
31. Supposing they are only small points that are in dispute. Well,
this mends it a little. For small points, I think, should not be stood
upon.
32. That the greatest quarrels among friends (and wives and husbands
are, or should be, friends) arise from small matters. I believe this is
very true; for I had like to have had anger here, when I intended very
well.
33. That a wife should not desire to convince her husband for
CONTRADICTION sake, but for HIS OWN. As both will find their account in
this, if one does, I believe ’tis very just.
34. That in all companies a wife must shew respect and love to her
husband.
35. And this for the sake of her own reputation and security; for,
36. That rakes cannot have a greater encouragement to attempt a married
lady’s virtue, than her slight opinion of her husband. To be sure this
stands to reason, and is a fine lesson.
37. That a wife should therefore draw a kind veil over her husband’s
faults.
38. That such as she could not conceal, she should extenuate.
39. That his virtues she should place in an advantageous light
40. And shew the world, that he had HER good opinion at least.
41. That she must value his friends for his sake.
42. That she must be cheerful and easy in her behaviour, to whomsoever
he brings home with him.
43. That whatever faults she sees in him, she never blame him before
company.
44. At least, with such an air of superiority, as if she had a less
opinion of his judgment than her own.
45. That a man of nice observation cannot be contented to be only
moderately happy in a wife.
46. That a wife take care how she ascribe supererogatory merit to
herself; so as to take the faults of others upon her.
Indeed, I think it is well if we can bear our own! This is of the same
nature with the third; and touches upon me, on the present occasion,
for this wholesome lecture.
47. That his imperfections must not be a plea for hers. To be sure,
’tis no matter how good the women are; but ’tis to be hoped men will
allow a little. But, indeed, he says,
48. That a husband, who expects all this, is to be incapable of
returning insult for obligation, or evil for good; and ought not to
abridge her of any privilege of her sex.
Well, my dear parents, I think this last rule crowns the rest, and
makes them all very tolerable; and a generous man, and a man of sense,
cannot be too much obliged. And, as I have this happiness, I shall be
very unworthy, if I do not always so think, and so act.
Yet, after all, you’ll see I have not the easiest task in the world.
But I know my own intentions, that I shall not wilfully err; and so
fear the less.
Not one hint did he give, that I durst lay hold of, about poor Miss
Sally Godfrey. I wish my lady had not spoken of it: for it has given me
a curiosity that is not quite so pretty in me; especially so early in
my nuptials, and in a case so long ago past. Yet he intimated too, to
his sister, that he had had other faults, (of this sort, I suppose,)
that had not come to her knowledge!—But I make no doubt he has seen his
error, and will be very good for the future. I wish it, and pray it may
be so, for his own dear sake!
Wednesday, the seventh.
When I arose in the morning, I went to wait on Lady Davers, seeing her
door open; and she was in bed, but awake, and talking to her woman. I
said, I hope I don’t disturb your ladyship. Not at all, said she; I am
glad to see you. How do you do? Well, added she, when do you set out
for Bedfordshire?—I said, I can’t tell, madam; it was designed as
to-day, but I have heard no more of it.
Sit down, said she, on the bed-side.—I find, by the talk we had
yesterday and last night, you have had but a poor time of it, Pamela,
(I must call you so yet, said she,) since you were brought to this
house, till within these few days. And Mrs. Jewkes too has given Beck
such an account, as makes me pity you.
Indeed, madam, said I, if your ladyship knew all, you would pity me;
for never poor creature was so hard put to it. But I ought to forget it
all now, and be thankful.
Why, said she, as far as I can find, ’tis a mercy you are here now. I
was sadly moved with some part of your story and you have really made a
noble defence, and deserve the praises of all our sex.
It was God enabled me, madam, replied I. Why, said she, ’tis the more
extraordinary, because I believe, if the truth was known, you loved the
wretch not a little. While my trials lasted, madam, said I, I had not a
thought of any thing, but to preserve my innocence, much less of love.
But, tell me truly, said she, did you not love him all the time? I had
always, madam, answered I, a great reverence for my master, and thought
all his good actions doubly good and for his naughty ones, though I
abhorred his attempts upon me, yet I could not hate him; and always
wished him well; but I did not know that it was love. Indeed I had not
the presumption.
Sweet girl! said she; that’s prettily said: But when he found he could
not gain his ends, and began to be sorry for your sufferings, and to
admire your virtue, and to profess honourable love to you, what did you
think?
Think! Indeed, madam, I did not know what to think! could neither hope
nor believe so great an honour would fall to my lot, and feared more
from his kindness, for some time, than I had done from his unkindness:
And, having had a private intimation, from a kind friend, of a sham
marriage, intended by means of a man who was to personate a minister,
it kept my mind in too much suspense, to be greatly overjoyed at his
kind declaration.
Said she, I think he did make two or three attempts upon you in
Bedfordshire? Yes, madam, said I; he was very naughty, to be sure.
And here he proposed articles to you, I understand? Yes, madam, replied
I; but I abhorred so much the thoughts of being a kept creature, that I
rejected them with great boldness; and was resolved to die before I
would consent to them.
He afterwards attempted you, I think: Did he not? O yes, madam, said I,
a most sad attempt he made! and I had like to have been lost; for Mrs.
Jewkes was not so good as she should have been. And so I told her
ladyship that sad affair, and how I fell into fits; and that they
believing me dying, forbore.—Any attempts after this base one? she
said.
He was not so good as he should have been, returned I, once in the
garden, afterwards; but I was so watchful, and so ready to take the
alarm!
But, said she, did he not threaten you, at times, and put on his stern
airs, every now and then?—Threaten, madam, replied I; yes, I had enough
of that! I thought I should have died for fear several times.—How could
you bear that? said she: for he is a most daring and majestic mortal!
He has none of your puny hearts, but is as courageous as a lion; and,
boy and man, never feared any thing. I myself, said she, have a pretty
good spirit; but, when I have made him truly angry, I have always been
forced to make it up with him, as well as I could: for, child, he is
not one that is easily reconciled, I assure you.
But, after he had professed honourable love to you, did he never
attempt you again?—No, indeed, madam, he did not. But he was a good
while struggling with himself, and with his pride, as he was pleased to
call it, before he could stoop so low; and considered, and considered
again: and once, upon my saying but two or three words, that displeased
him, when he was very kind to me, he turned me out of doors, in a
manner, at an hour’s warning; for he sent me above a day’s journey
towards my father’s; and then sent a man and horse, post-haste, to
fetch me back again; and has been exceedingly kind and gracious to me
ever since, and made me happy.
That sending you away, said she, one hour, and sending after you the
next, is exactly like my brother; and ’tis well if he don’t turn you
off twice or thrice before a year comes about, if you vex him: and he
would have done the same by the first lady in the land, if he had been
married to her. Yet has he his virtues, as well as his faults; for he
is generous; nay, he is noble in his spirit; hates little dirty
actions: he delights in doing good; but does not pass over a wilful
fault easily. He is wise, prudent, sober, and magnanimous, and will not
tell a lie, nor disguise his faults; but you must not expect to have
him all to yourself, I doubt.
But I’ll no more harp upon this string: You see how he was exasperated
at me; and he seemed to be angry at you too; though something of it was
art, I believe.
Indeed, madam, said I, he has been pleased to give me a most noble
lecture; and I find he was angry with me in earnest, and that it will
not be an easy task to behave unexceptionably to him: for he is very
nice and delicate in his notions, I perceive; but yet, as your ladyship
says, exceeding generous.
Well, said she, I’m glad thou hadst a little bit of his anger; else I
should have thought it art; and I don’t love to be treated with low
art, any more than he; and I should have been vexed if he had done it
by me.
But I understand, child, said she, that you keep a journal of all
matters that pass, and he has several times found means to get at it:
Should you care I should see it? It could not be to your disadvantage;
for I find it had no small weight with him in your favour; and I should
take great pleasure to read all his stratagems, attempts, contrivances,
menaces, and offers to you, on one hand, and all your pretty
counter-plottings, which he much praises; your resolute resistance, and
the noble stand you have made to preserve your virtue; and the steps by
which his pride was subdued, and his mind induced to honourable love,
till you were made what you now are: for it must be a rare and uncommon
story; and will not only give me great pleasure in reading, but will
entirely reconcile me to the step he has taken: and that, let me tell
you, is what I never thought to be; for I had gone a great way in
bringing about a match with him and Lady Betty—; and had said so much
of it, that the earl, her father, approved of it: and so did the Duke
of ——, her uncle; and Lady Betty herself was not averse: and now I
shall be hunted to death about it; and this has made me so outrageous
as you have seen me upon the matter. But when I can find, by your
writings, that your virtue is but suitably rewarded, it will be not
only a good excuse for me, but for him, and make me love you. There is
nothing that I would not do, said I, to oblige your ladyship; but my
poor father and mother (who would rather have seen me buried quick in
the earth, than to be seduced by the greatest of princes) have them in
their hands at present; and your dear brother has bespoken them, when
they have done reading them: but, if he gives me leave, I will shew
them to your ladyship, with all my heart; not doubting your generous
allowances, as I have had his; though I have treated him very freely
all the way, while he had naughty views; and that your ladyship would
consider them as the naked sentiments of my heart, from time to time
delivered to those, whose indulgence I was sure of; and for whose sight
only they were written.
Give me a kiss now, said her ladyship, for your cheerful compliance:
for I make no doubt my brother will consent I shall see them, because
they must needs make for your honour; and I see he loves you better
than any one in the world.
I have heard, continued her ladyship, a mighty good character of your
parents, as industrious, honest, sensible, good folks, who know the
world; and, as I doubt not my brother’s generosity, I am glad they will
make no ill figure in the world’s eye.
Madam, said I, they are the honestest, the lovingest, and the most
conscientious couple breathing. They once lived creditably; and brought
up a great family, of which I am the youngest; but had misfortunes,
through their doing beyond their power for two unhappy brothers, who
are both dead, and whose debts they stood bound for; and so became
reduced, and, by harsh creditors, (where most of the debts were, not of
their own contracting,) turned out of all; and having, without success,
tried to set up a little country-school; (for my father understood a
little of accounts, and wrote a pretty good hand;) forced to take to
hard labour; but honest all the time; contented; never repining; and
loving to one another; and, in the midst of their poverty and
disappointments, above all temptation; and all their fear was, that I
should be wicked, and yield to temptation for the sake of worldly
riches and to God’s grace, and their good lessons, and those I imbibed
from my dear good lady, your ladyship’s mother, it is that I owe the
preservation of my innocence,—and the happy station I am exalted to.
She was pleased to kiss me again, and said, There is such a noble
simplicity in thy story, such an honest artlessness in thy mind, and
such a sweet humility in thy deportment, notwithstanding thy present
station, that I believe I shall be forced to love thee, whether I will
or not: and the sight of your papers, I dare say, will crown the work;
will disarm my pride, banish my resentment on Lady Betty’s account, and
justify my brother’s conduct; and, at the same time, redound to your
own everlasting honour, as well as to the credit of our sex: and so I
make no doubt but my brother will let me see them.
Worden, said my lady, I can say any thing before you; and you will take
no notice of our conversation; but I see you are much touched with it:
Did you ever hear any thing prettier, more unaffected, sincere, free,
easy?—No, never, madam, answered she, in my life; and it is a great
pleasure to see so happy a reconciliation taking place, where there is
so much merit.
I said, I have discovered so much prudence in Mrs. Worden, that, as
well for that, as for the confidence your ladyship places in her, I
have made no scruple of speaking my mind freely before her; and of
blaming my dear master while he was blameworthy, as well as
acknowledging his transcendent goodness to me since; which, I am sure,
exceeds all I can ever deserve. May be not, said my lady; I hope you’ll
be very happy in one another; and I’ll now rise, and tell him my
thoughts, and ask him to let me have the reading of your papers; for I
promise myself much pleasure in them; and shall not grudge a journey
and a visit to you, to the other house, to fetch them.
Your ladyship’s favour, said I, was all I had to wish for; and if I
have that, and the continuance of your dear brother’s goodness to me, I
shall be easy under whatever else may happen.
And so I took my leave, and withdrew; and she let me hear her say to
Mrs. Worden, ’Tis a charming creature, Worden!—I know not which excels;
her person, or her mind!—And so young a creature too!—Well may my
brother love her!
I am afraid, my dear father and mother, I shall now be too proud
indeed.
I had once a good mind to have asked her ladyship about Miss Sally
Godfrey; but I thought it was better let alone, since she did not
mention It herself. May be I shall hear it too soon. But I hope not. I
wonder, though, whether she be living or dead.
We breakfasted together with great good temper; and my lady was very
kind, and, asking my good master, he gave leave very readily, she
should see all my papers, when you returned them to me; and he said, He
was sure, when she came to read them, she would say, that I had well
deserved the fortune I had met with: and would be of opinion, that all
the kindness of his future life would hardly be a sufficient reward for
my virtue, and make me amends for my sufferings.
My lady resolving to set out the next morning to return to her lord, my
master ordered every thing to be made ready for his doing the like to
Bedfordshire; and this evening our good neighbours will sup with us, to
take leave of my lady and us.
Wednesday night.
Nothing particular having passed at dinner or supper, but the most
condescending goodness, on my lady’s side, to me; and the highest
civilities from Mr. Peters’s family, from Lady Jones, from Sir Simon’s
family, etc. and reciprocal good wishes all around; and a promise
obtained from my benefactor, that he would endeavour to pass a
fortnight or three weeks in these parts, before the winter set in; I
shall conclude this day with observing, that I disposed of the money my
master was so good to put into my hands, in the manner he was pleased
to direct; and I gave Mrs. Jewkes hers in such a manner as highly
pleased her; and she wished me, with tears, all kinds of happiness; and
prayed me to forgive her all her wickedness to me, as she herself
called it. I begged leave of my master to present Mrs. Worden with five
guineas for a pair of gloves; which he said was well thought of.
I should have mentioned, that Miss Darnford and I agreed upon a
correspondence, which will be no small pleasure to me; for she is an
admirable young lady, whom I prefer to every one I have seen; and I
shall, I make no doubt, improve by her letters; for she is said to have
a happy talent in writing, and is well read, for so young a lady.
Saturday.
On Thursday morning my lady set out for her own seat; and my best
friend and I, attended by Mr. Colbrand, Abraham, and Thomas, for this
dear house. Her ladyship parted with her brother and me with great
tenderness, and made me promise to send her my papers; which I find she
intends to entertain Lady Betty with, and another lady or two, her
intimates, as also her lord; and hopes to find, as I believe, in the
reading of them, some excuse for her brother’s choice.
My dearest master has been all love and tenderness on the road, as he
is in every place, and on every occasion. And oh, what a delightful
change was this journey, to that which, so contrary to all my wishes,
and so much to my apprehensions, carried me hence to the Lincolnshire
house! And how did I bless God at every turn, and at every stage!
We did not arrive here till yesterday noon. Abraham rode before, to let
them know we were coming: and I had the satisfaction to find every body
there I wished to see.
When the chariot entered the court-yard, I was so strongly impressed
with the favour and mercies of God Almighty, on remembering how I was
sent away the last time I saw this house; the leave I took; the dangers
I had encountered; a poor cast-off servant girl; and now returning a
joyful wife, and the mistress, through his favour, of the noble house I
was turned out of; that I was hardly able to support the joy I felt in
my mind on the occasion. He saw how much I was moved, and tenderly
asked me, Why I seemed so affected? I told him, and lifted his dear
hand to my lips, and said, O sir! God’s mercies, and your goodness to
me on entering this dear, dear place, are above my expression; I can
hardly bear the thoughts of them!—He said, Welcome, thrice welcome, joy
of my life! to your own house; and kissed my hand in return. All the
common servants stood at the windows, as unseen as they could, to
observe us. He took my hand, with the most condescending goodness in
the world; and, with great complaisance, led me into the parlour, and
kissed me with the greatest ardour. Welcome again, my dearest life!
said he, a thousand times welcome to the possession of a house that is
not more mine than yours!
I threw myself at his feet: Permit me, dear sir, thus to bless God, and
thank you, for all his mercies and your goodness. O may I so behave, as
not to be utterly unworthy; and then how happy shall I be! God give me,
my dearest, said he, life and health to reward all your sweetness! and
no man can be so blest as I.
Where (said he to Abraham, who passed by the door), where is Mrs.
Jervis?—She bolted in: Here, good sir! said she; here, good madam! am
I, waiting impatiently, till called for, to congratulate you both.—I
ran to her, and clasped my arms about her neck, and kissed her; O my
dear Mrs. Jervis! said I, my other dear mother! receive your happy,
happy Pamela; and join with me to bless God, and bless our master, for
all these great things!—I was ready to sink in her arms through excess
of joy, to see the dear good woman, who had been so often a mournful
witness of my distress, as now of my triumph.—Dearest madam, said she,
you do me too much honour. Let my whole life shew the joy I take in
your deserved good fortune, and in my duty to you, for the early
instance I received of your goodness in your kind letter. O Mrs.
Jervis! replied I, there all thanks are due, both from you and me: for
our dear master granted me this blessing, as I may justly call it, the
very first moment I begged it of him. Your goodness, sir, said she, I
will for ever acknowledge; and I beg pardon for the wrong step I made
in applying to my Lady Davers.—He was so good as to salute her, and
said, All is over now, Mrs. Jervis; and I shall not remember you ever
disobliged me. I always respected you, and shall now more and more
value you, for the sake of that dear good creature, whom, with joy
unfeigned, I can call my wife. God bless your honour for ever! said
she; and many many happy years may ye live together, the envy and
wonder of all who know you!
But where, said my dear master, is honest Longman? and where is
Jonathan?—Come, Mrs. Jervis, said I, you shall shew me them, and all
the good folks, presently; and let me go up with you to behold the dear
apartments, which I have seen before with such different emotions to
what I shall now do.
We went up; and in every room, the chamber I took refuge in, when my
master pursued me, my lady’s chamber, her dressing-room, Mrs. Jervis’s
room, not forgetting her closet, my own little bed-chamber, the
green-room, and in each of the others, I blessed God for my past
escapes, and present happiness; and the good woman was quite affected
with the zeal and pleasure with which I made my thankful
acknowledgments to the divine goodness. O my excellent lady! said she,
you are still the same good, pious, humble soul I knew you; and your
marriage has added to your graces, as I hope it will to your blessings.
Dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, you know not what I have gone through! You
know not what God has done for me! You know not what a happy creature I
am now! I have a thousand thousand things to tell you; and a whole week
will be too little, every moment of it spent in relating to you what
has befallen me, to make you acquainted with it all. We shall be
sweetly happy together, I make no doubt. But I charge you, my dear Mrs.
Jervis, whatever you call me before strangers, that when we are by
ourselves you call me nothing but your Pamela. For what an ungrateful
creature should I be, who have received so many mercies, if I
attributed them not to the divine goodness, but assumed to myself
insolent airs upon them! No, I hope I shall be, more and more thankful,
as I am more and more blest! and more humble, as God, the author of all
my happiness, shall more distinguish me.
We went down again to the parlour, to my dear master. Said he, Call
Longman in again; he longs to see you, my dear. He came in: God bless
you, my sweet lady, said he; as now, Heaven be praised, I may call you!
Did I not tell you, madam, that Providence would find you out? O, Mr.
Longman, said I, God be praised for all his mercies! I am rejoiced to
see you; and I laid my hand on his, and said, Good Mr. Longman, how do
you do?—I must always value you; and you don’t know how much of my
present happiness I owe to the sheets of paper, and pens and ink, you
furnished me with. I hope my dear sir and you are quite reconciled.—O,
madam, said he, how good you are! Why, I cannot contain myself for joy!
and then he wiped his eyes; good man!