Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  ‘On second thoughts, let Tom go forward with Mrs Andrew’s letter, if she pleases to give one, and do you attend her in her return hither.’

  Now this is a generous manner of treating me. Surely I am not of an ungenerous mind myself; for I love to be generously treated! I wished at the time that I could have taken your directions in this case.217 I think I will trust in his generosity: yet is it not too great a trust; especially as I have been treated? Then the gypsey’s information came into my mind. Who, Pamela, thought I, if thou returnest, will pity thee, should he take advantage of this confidence? The world forms its judgment of our actions rather from events, than from reason in undecided cases. And yet, if he meant not honourably now, he might have ordered Colbrand and Robin to carry me back, whether I would or not. And will it not look as if I were prepossessed, as he calls it, if I chuse to proceed to my father’s? If he intends honour to me, the least I can shew on my part, is, that I have gratitude, and that my heart is free; so that I can return love and duty for it. Hard would it be for a man of his rank and fortune, if he were to undervalue himself, in preferring his poor servant to ladies of rank and fortune, and could not be sure, that she could love him above all the men in the world. He leaves me, as I have observed above, generously at my liberty, when he could compel me. And begs of me to spare him the confusion of following me to my father’s; which he must do, he says, if I proceed. Does not this generosity, and open declaration, deserve in return some confidence?

  He is not now, in my eye, the dreaded master, but the condescending one. And how amiable does he appear to me, to what he did! Then he is indisposed: his illness is owing to his vexation for parting with me. If he should die! (which God forbid.) And could I think that I was the occasion – I will not tell you how this sad thought affected me.

  Recovering myself, Away with these fears, thought I, and with all my apprehensions! I will return. I will obey him. The humble Pamela will not lose this opportunity of laying an obligation on her great master. Who knows, but he may owe his life to my return? And if so, that preserved life will enable one to bear the lowering reflections that a sense of my unworthiness might otherwise, at times, fill me with, if he should be good to me.218 I will return. And if he should treat me ill hereafter, double will be his ungenerous guilt – I can then but die!

  Having so resolved, I thought it right, to take to myself all the merit I could in obliging him, in hopes to engage the more securely his gratitude: and so I wrote the letter to you which he desired me to write, begging of you to return me, by the bearer, those papers and letters which I had sent you by Mr Williams’s conveyance: for that they imported me much, for clearing up a point in my conduct, yet my master was desirous, to have cleared up, in order to make me happier than ever I could have hoped to be. But you will have that letter, before you can have this; for I would not send you this without the papers that precede it; and those are in my master’s hands.

  Having written this letter, and given it to Thomas, for him to carry to you, I sent for Monsieur Colbrand and Robin; and gave to the former his letter; and when he had read it, I said, ‘You see how things stand. I am resolved to return to our master; and as he is not so well as were to be wished, the more haste you make, the better: don’t mind my fatigue; consider only yourselves, and the horses.’ Robin, who guessed the matter, by his conversation with Thomas, (as I suppose) said, ‘God bless you, madam, and reward you, as your obligingness to my good master deserves; and may we all live to see you triumph over Mrs Jewkes!’

  I wondered to hear him say so; for I was always careful of exposing my master, or even that wicked woman, before the common servants. But yet I question whether Robin would have said this, as he was not quite so good as he should be when he brought me down, if he had not guessed, by Thomas’s message, and my resolving to return, that I might stand well with his master. So selfish are the hearts of poor mortals, that they are ready to change as favour goes!

  They were not long getting ready. I wrote on till they were; and on my knees, prayed to God, that I might have no cause to repent my compliance.

  Robin drove on at a very great rate; and when we came to the little town, where we put up on Sunday night, he gave his horses a bait; and said, he would push for his master’s that night, as it would be moon-light, if I should not be too much fatigued; because there was no place between that and the village adjacent to Brandon Hall fit to put up at for the night. I said, I wished not to lie on the road; and if it could be performed, I should bear it well enough. And so we pursued our journey.

  But it was about one o’clock when we reached my master’s gate. Every body was gone to rest. But one of the helpers got the keys from Mrs Jewkes, and opened the gates. The horses were so tired, that they could hardly crawl into the stables. And I, with the over-fatigue, when I went to get out of the chariot, fell down, and thought I had lost the use of my limbs.

  Mrs Jewkes huddled on her clothes, and came down. She lifted up her hands and eyes, as if she wondered at my return: and I thought shewed more care of the horses than of me. Two of the maids came soon after; and I, supporting myself on the arms of each, made shift to get up stairs.

  It seems my master was very ill, and had been upon the bed most part of the day. Abraham (who succeeded John) sat up with him. And he stepping out to us, told us, that my master was got into a fine sleep, and heard not the chariot come in. I was glad of that; for although his chamber lies towards the garden, on the other side of the house, I thought the coachman and the other servants (being awake themselves) talked loud enough to disturb the soundest sleeper, in the remotest part of the house; and Robin drove in the horses, farther over the rattling pavement, than he needed to have done.219

  Mrs Jewkes said, he had a feverish complaint, and had been blooded. She prudently forbade Abraham, when my master awaked, to tell him I was come, for fear of surprising him, and augmenting his fever; or, indeed, to say anything of me, till she herself broke it to him in the morning, as she should see how he was.

  Mrs Jewkes obliged me to drink almost half a pint of burnt wine,220 made very rich and cordial, with spices; and then gave me a part of her bed; and I fell into a sound sleep, which I had little hoped for.

  TUESDAY Morning

  Mrs Jewkes, as soon as she got up, went to know how my master did, and he had had a good night; and having drank plentifully of sack-whey,221 his fever was considerably abated. She told him, he must not be surprised, and she would tell him news. He asked, ‘What?’ And she said, Pamela was come back. He raised himself up, ‘Can it be? ‘said he: ‘What, already!’ She told him, I came last night. Colbrand coming to the door to enquire of my master’s health, he ordered him to come in, and was highly pleased with the account he gave him of my readiness to come back, and of my willingness to reach home that night. And he said, ‘These tender fair-ones, I think, bear fatigue better than we men. But she is very good, to give me such an instance of her readiness to oblige me. Pray, Mrs Jewkes, take great care of her health. Let her not rise all day.’ She told him, I had been up two hours. ‘Ask her,’ said he, ‘if she will be so good as to make me a visit. If she will not, I will rise, and attend her.’ ‘Indeed, sir,’ said she, ‘you must lie still. To be sure she will think it her duty to wait on your honour.’ ‘But don’t urge her too much,’ said he, ‘if she be unwilling.’

  She came to me, and telling me this, I said, I would most willingly wait upon him. Indeed I longed to see my master, and was much grieved he was so ill. So I went with her. ‘Will she come?’ said he, as I entered the room. ‘Yes, sir,’ said she; ‘and she said, at the first word, “Most willingly”.’ ‘Sweet excellence!’ he was pleased to say.

  As soon as he saw me, he said, ‘O my Pamela! you have made me quite well. I am concerned to return my acknowledgements to you in so unfit a place and manner; but will you give me your hand?’ I did, and he kissed it with great eagerness. I expressed myself sorry to see him so ill. ‘I can’t be ill,’ said he, ‘while you are with me.
I am well already’; and again kissing my hand, ‘You shall not,’ said he, ‘repent of this goodness. I am sorry you have had so much fatigue. Life is no life without you! If you had refused to return (and yet I had hardly hopes you would oblige me) I should have had a very severe fit of it, I believe; for I was taken very oddly, and knew not what to make of myself: but now I shall be well instantly. You need not, Mrs Jewkes,’ added he, ‘send for Dr Harpur from Stamford; for this lovely creature is my doctor, as her absence was my disease.’

  Mrs Jewkes looked so particularly odd, that I cannot describe how she looked. In short, no other features but her own could express such looks. Half surprized and half-displeased, and such a squint with her eyes! Yet instantly, as it were, the displeasure went off, as if she had bid it hide itself, and then a sort of vexed, forced, broad smile took place, as if (as I thought afterwards) she would have been glad to take to herself some merit, from being present at the favour shewn me, though by the first part of her countenance, I dare say she wished me an hundred miles off, and that I had never come back.222

  My master desired me to sit down by his bedside; and I turning my head, as if looking for a chair, the officious woman reached one; and, at his repeated command, I sat down. He then asked me, if I had obliged him in the request he had made me, that I would send to my father for my former packet. I told him I had, and hoped it would be brought. It was doubly kind and good, he was pleased to say.

  As rest, I said, was necessary for him, I desired leave to withdraw; and added, that I would pray for his honour’s speedy recovery. ‘Dear, good girl,’ he called me; and bowed his head; and I retired with a look and behaviour, from which, I doubt (as I have since recollected) he might read a good deal of my heart. Forgive me, my dear parents. But if it was so, I could not help it.

  He arose in the afternoon, and sent for me into his chamber. He seemed much amended in his health, as well as, I bless God for it, in his heart. How kind a dispensation is sickness sometimes! He was quite easy, and pleased with me. Mrs Jewkes was there, and he said to her, ‘After this instance of my good Pamela’s obligingness in her chearful return, I am sure, Mrs Jewkes, we ought to leave her entirely at her liberty; and, pray, if she chuses to take an airing in the chariot, let her be obliged, without asking her any questions.’

  He took my hand, and said, ‘One thing I will tell you, Pamela, because I know you will be glad to hear it, and yet will not care to ask about it: I had, before you went, taken Williams’s bond for the money he owes me. How the poor man had behaved, I can’t tell; but he could get no bail; and if I have no new reason given me, I shall hardly exact the payment of it. He has now been some time at liberty. But, methinks, I could wish, you would not see him at present.’

  ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I will not do any thing to disoblige you wilfully; and I am glad Mr Williams is at liberty; and the more, because I was the occasion of his misfortunes.’ I durst say no more, though I wanted to plead for the poor gentleman. ‘I am sorry, sir,’ added I, ’that Lady Davers, who loves you so well, should have incurred your displeasure. I hope it was not on my account.’

  He took out of his waistcoat-pocket his letter-case, and said, ‘Here, Pamela; read that when you go to your chamber. You will find it to be a letter from Lady Davers; and let me have your thoughts upon it.’

  He complained of heaviness,223 and said he would lie down, and indulge for that day; and if he were better in the morning, would take an airing in the chariot. So I withdrew, and went to my closet, and read the letter he was pleased to put into my hands; which is as follows:

  ‘Give me leave to tell you, brother, that I have had some people with me, who, with a good design, have made me acquainted with a certain proceeding of your’s that gives me great uneasiness. I will, without apology, write to you my full mind on the occasion. Could I have thought that a brother of mine would so meanly run away with my mother’s waiting-maid, and keep her a prisoner from all her friends? And yet I might have supposed, when you would not let the wench come to me on my mother’s death, that you meant no good. You must either mean to marry her, or to make a kept creature of her; if the latter, are there not wretches enough to be had, without ruining a poor wench, whom my mother loved, and who really was a very good girl? As to marriage, I dare say you don’t think of it. Your pride, surely, will set you above that. If it do not, you will be utterly inexcusable. It has been hinted to me, nevertheless, by others, that you have meanness enough in your pride, to think of such a thing; so bewitched are you, it seems, by this girl. This, though I think it must be a groundless surmise, excessively alarms me. Consider, brother, that ours is no upstart family. It is as ancient as the best in the kingdom: and, for several hundreds of years, it has never been known, that the heirs of it have disgraced themselves by unequal matches: and you know you have been sought to by some of the first families in the nation, for your alliance. If you were descended from a family of yesterday, from one who is but a remove or two from the dirt you seem so fond of, that would be another thing. Let me tell you, that I, and all mine, will renounce you for ever, if you can descend so meanly. A handsome man, as you are in your person, so happy in the gifts of your mind; and possessed of such a noble and clear estate; and very rich in money besides, left you by the behest of fathers and mothers, with such ancient blood in your veins, untainted. I cannot bear to think of your thus debasing yourself: and yet it would be very wicked in you to ruin the wench. Let me, therefore, beg of you, to restore her to her parents. Give her an hundred pounds or so, and make her happy with some honest fellow of her own degree; and that will equally become your honour, and your usual generosity of spirit.

  ‘You must impute to my true sisterly love, and to my regard for your honour, the freedom of this expostulation; and then no other excuse will be wanting for it, from

  Your affectionate sister,

  B. DAVERS.’

  What a letter is this, my dear father and mother! One may see by it how poor people are despised by the rich and the great! And yet we were all on a foot originally. Surely these proud people never think what a short stage life is; and that, with all their vanity, a time is coming, when they shall be on a level with us. The philosopher, who looked upon the skull of a king, and that of a poor man, saw no difference between them.224 Besides, do they not know, that the richest of princes, and the poorest of beggars, are to have one great and just Judge, at the last day; who will not distinguish between them, according to their circumstances when in life? But, on the contrary, according to the neglected opportunities afforded to both? And how much greater then must be the condemnation of the one, than of the other? Poor souls! how do I pity their pride! O keep me, Heaven! from their high condition, if my mind shall ever be tainted with their vice! or polluted with so cruel and inconsiderate a contempt of the humble estate which they behold with so much scorn.

  But, besides, how do these great people know, supposing they could trace back their ancestry, for one, two, three, or even five hundred years, that then the original stems of these poor families, though they have not kept such elaborate records of their good-for-nothingness, (as it often proves) were not as deeply rooted as theirs? And how can they be assured, that one or two hundred years hence, some of those now despised upstart families may not revel in their estates, while their descendants may be reduced to the other’s dung-hills? And perhaps such is the vanity, as well as changeableness of human affairs, in their turns, aided by the heralds office, set up for pride of family, and despite the others!

  On this occasion I recal the following lines, which I have read; where the poet argues in a much better manner:

  Wise Providence

  Does various parts for various minds dispense;

  The meanest slaves, or those who hedge and ditch,

  Are useful, by their toil, to feed the rich.

  The rich, in due return, impart their store;

  To comfort and reward the lab’ring poor.

  Nor let the rich the lowest slave disdain; />
  He’s equally a link of nature’s chain;

  Labours to the same end, joins in one view;

  And both alike the Will Divine pursue:

  And, at the last, are levelled, king and slave,

  Without distinction, in the silent grave.225

  WEDNESDAY Morning

  My master sent me a message just now, that he was so much better, that he would take a turn after breakfast, in the chariot, and would have me give him my company. I hope, I shall know how to comport myself with humility, under all these favours.

  Mrs Jewkes is become one of the most obliging creatures in the world; and, after her example, every one shews me high respect. But now, if this should all end in the sham-marriage! What would become of your poor girl, should returning health revive in him his wicked views! But I shall see what light this new honour will afford me! So I’ll get ready. But I won’t, I think, change my garb. Should I do it, it would look as if I would be nearer on a level with him: I will therefore go as I am, except he orders otherwise. Yet Mrs Jewkes says, I ought to dress as fine as I can. As my master is up, and at breakfast, I will venture down to ask him, how he will have me appear.