Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  ‘Were there time for it,’ said my father, ‘the book of Ruth259 would afford a fine subject for the honour done my child.’

  ‘I know that story, Mr Andrews,’ said my master; ‘but Mr Williams will confirm what I say, that my good girl here will confer as much honour as she will receive.’

  ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘you are inexpressibly generous; but I shall never think so.’ ‘That, my Pamela,’ said he, ‘is another thing: it will be best for me to think you will; and it will be kind in you to think you shall not. And the result will be to the advantage of both, in our behaviour to each other.’

  When we came out of the little chapel, Mr Williams said he would go home, and look over his discourses for a suitable one.

  ‘I have one thing to say, before you go, Mr Williams,’ said my master. ‘It is this: when my jealousy, on account of this good girl, put me upon a very vindictive conduct to you, you know I took a bond for the money I had caused you to be troubled for: I really am ashamed of that proceeding. I intended not, at the time I lent it to you, nor even when I took the bond, ever to receive it again. Here it is cancelled’ (taking it out of his pocket, and giving it to him). ‘How poorly does the present atone for the cruelty I used you with! But what will not jealousy make a man guilty of! I think,’ proceeded he, ‘all the charges attending the trouble you had, were defrayed by my attorney: I ordered that they should.’

  ‘They were, sir,’ said he; ‘and ten thousand thanks to you for this goodness!’

  My father was a little uneasy about his habit, because of his being to appear at chapel next day, before Miss Darnfords, and the servants; not on his own account, he said, but for my master’s and mine: and then he told me of my master’s present of twenty guineas for clothes, for you both; which made my heart truly joyful. But is it not almost a hard things, my dear mother, to lie under the weight of such deep obligations on one side, and such a sense of one’s own unworthiness on the other! What a God-like power is that of doing good! I envy the rich and the great for nothing else!

  My master coming to us just as the twenty guineas were mentioned, I said, ‘Oh! sir, will your bounty know no limits! My father has told me what you have given him.’ ‘A trifle, Pamela,’ said he; ‘a little earnest only of my kindness. Say no more of it. But did I not hear the good man expressing some sort of concern for somewhat? Hide nothing from me, Pamela.’ ‘Only, sir,’ replied I, ‘he knew not how to absent himself from Divine Service, and yet from his poor garb–’

  ’Fie, Mr Andrews,’ interrupted he, ‘I thought you were above regarding outward appearance. But, Pamela, your father is not much thinner than I am, nor much shorter; he and I will walk up together to my wardrobe; though it is not so well stored here, as in Bedfordshire.’

  He accordingly led him, not without some painful reluctance on my father’s part, up stairs, and looked over several suits; and, at last, fixing his eye upon a fine drab,260 which he thought looked the plainest, he would help him to try the coat and waistcoat on himself. Indeed they fit him surprisingly well: and being plain, and lined with the same colour, (being made for travelling in a coach) my father had the less objection to them.

  My master gave him the whole suit, and directed, in the kindest and most generous manner, that he should have linen, and hat, and shoes, and stockings, of his own, looked out for him; and even gave him, instead of the shoe-strings he used to wear, a pair of silver buckles out of his own shoes. So, my good mother, you must expect to see my dear father a great beau. ‘Wig,’ said my master, ‘you want not Mr Andrews; for your own venerable white locks become you better than the most costly peruke ever became the best-dressed man in England.’261

  But my poor father could not refrain tears when he came to me, and told me all this. ‘I know not how,’ said he, ‘to comport myself under these great favours. O my child, it is all owing to the Divine Goodness, and your virtue!’

  SUNDAY

  This blessed day all the family seemed to take delight to equip themselves for the celebration of the Sabbath, in the little chapel; and Mrs Jones, and Mr Williams, came in her chariot, and the two Miss Darnfords, in their own; each attended by a footman. And we breakfasted together, in a most agreeable manner. My father appeared quite spruce and neat, and was greatly caressed by the three ladies.

  As we were at breakfast, my master told Mr Williams, we must let the Psalms alone, he doubted, for want of a clerk; but Mr Williams said, No, nothing should be wanting that he could supply. My father said, If it might be permitted, he would, as well as he was able, perform that office; for it was what he had always taken delight in. And as I knew he had learnt psalmody formerly, in his youth, and had constantly practised it in private, at home, on Sunday evenings, (as well as endeavoured to teach it in the little school he so unsuccessfully set up, at the beginning of his misfortunes, before he took to hard labour) I was in no pain for his undertaking it in this little congregation. They seemed much pleased with his offer. Mrs Jewkes, and all the servants, but the cook, attended: and I never saw Divine Service performed with more solemnity, nor assisted at with greater devotion and decency; my master, Mrs Jones, and the two young ladies, setting an amiable example.

  My father performed his part with great applause, making the responses as if he had been a practised parish clerk. He gave out the xxiiird psalm,* which consisting of but three staves,262 we had it all; and he read the line, and began the tune, with a heart so entirely affected with the duty, as enabled him to go through it distinctly, calmly, and fervently at the same time. Mrs Jones whispered me, That good men were fit for all companies, and present to every laudable occasion: and Miss Darnford said, ‘God bless the dear good man!’

  You must think how I rejoiced in my heart.

  I know, my dear mother, you can say most of the shorter psalms by heart; so I need not transcribe this, especially as your chief treasure is a Bible: and a treasure indeed it is. I know nobody makes more or better use of it.

  Mr Williams gave us an excellent discourse on liberality and generosity, and the blessing attending the right use of riches, from the xith chapter of Proverbs, ver. 24, 25. ‘There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is that withholdeth more than is meet; but it tendeth to poverty. The liberal soul shall be made fat; and he that watereth, shall be watered also himself.’ And he treated the subject in so handsome a manner, (keeping to generals) that the delicacy of my master, who at first was afraid of some personal compliments, was not offended; and he called it an elegant and sensible discourse.

  My father was in the clerk’s place, just under the desk; and Mrs Jones, by her footman, desired him to favour us with another psalm, when the sermon was ended. He thinking, as he said afterwards, that the former was rather of the longest, chose the shortest in the book, which, you know, is the cxviith.*

  My master thanked Mr Williams for his discourse, and so did the ladies: as also did I, most heartily: and my master was pleased to take my father by the hand, as did also Mr Williams, and thanked him for his part in the sacred service. The ladies likewise made him their compliments; and the servants all looked upon him with countenances of respect and pleasure.

  At dinner, do what I could, I was obliged to take the upper end of the table; and my master said, ‘Pamela, you are so dextrous, that I think you may help the ladies; and I will help my two good friends, (should I not?)’ meaning my father and Mr Williams.

  I should have told you though, that I dressed myself in a flowered pattern, that was my lady’s, and looked as good as new, and which had been given me soon after her death by my master; and the ladies, who had not seen me out of my homespun before, made me abundance of compliments, when they saw me first.

  Talking of the psalms, just after dinner, my master greatly abashed me: for he said to my father, ‘Mr Andrews, I think, in the afternoon, as we shall have only prayers, we may have one longer psalm; and what think you of the cxxxviith?’ ‘O good sir!’ said I, ‘pray, pray, not a word more!’ ‘Say what you will, Pame
la,’ said he, ‘you shall sing it to us, according to your own version, before these ladies leave us.’ My father smiled, but was half concerned for me; and said, ‘Will it bear, and please your honour?’ ‘O ay,’ said he, ‘never fear it; so long as Mrs Jewkes is not in hearing.’

  This excited all the ladies curiosity; and Mrs Jones said, she should be loth to desire any thing that would give me concern; but should be glad I would give leave for it. ‘Indeed, madam,’ said I, ‘I must beg you won’t insist upon it: I cannot, cannot comply.’ ‘You shall see it, indeed, ladies,’ said my master; ‘and pray, Pamela, not always as you please, neither.’ ‘Then, sir,’ said I, ‘not in my hearing, I hope.’ ‘Sure, Pamela,’ returned he, ‘you would not write what is not fit to be heard!’ ‘But, sir,’ said I, ‘there are particular cases, times, and occasions, that may make a thing tolerable at one time, that would not be so at another.’ ‘O,’ said he, ‘let me judge of that, as well as you, Pamela. These ladies know a good deal of your story; and, let me tell you, what they know of it is more to your credit than mine; so that if I have no dislike to revive the occasion, you may very well comply. But I will put you out of your pain, Pamela: Here it is!’ And took it out of his pocket

  I stood up, and said, ‘I hope, sir, you will allow me to leave the room a minute, if you will read it’ ‘Indeed, I will not,’ answered he. Mrs Jones said, ‘Pray, Mr B. let us not hear it, if Mrs Andrews be so unwilling.’ ‘Well, Pamela,’ said my master, ‘I will put it to your choice, whether I shall read it now, or you will sing it by-and-by.’ ‘That’s very hard, sir,’ said I. ‘It must be one, I assure you,’ said he. ‘Why then, sir,’ replied I, ‘you must do as you please; for I cannot sing it.’

  ’Then,’ said he, ‘I find I must read it; though very little to my reputation, as you, ladies, will think. But, first, let me briefly tell you the occasion.

  ‘It was this: Pamela, in the time of her confinement, as she thought it, one Sunday was importuned by Mrs Jewkes, whom she considered as her gaoler, and whom she thought employed in a design against her honour, to sing a psalm. But her spirits not permitting, she declined it. However, on Mrs Jewkes’s leaving her, recollecting that the cxxxviith psalm was applicable to her supposed case, Mrs Jewkes having often on other days urged her to sing a song, she turned it as in the paper in my hand. But pray, Mr Williams, do you read one verse of the common translation,263 and I will read one of Pamela’s version.’

  Mr Williams, pulling out his little pocket common-prayer book, read the first two stanzas.

  I

  When we did sit in Babylon,

  The rivers round about:

  Then in remembrance of Sion,264

  The tears for grief burst out.

  II

  We hanged our harps and instruments

  The willow-trees upon:

  For in that place, men, for that use,

  Had planted many a one.

  My master then read:

  I

  When sad I sat in Brandon-hall,

  All watched265 round about,

  And thought of ev’ry absent friend,

  The tears for grief burst out

  II

  My joys and hopes all overthrown,

  My heart-strings almost broke;

  Unfit my mind for melody,

  Much more to bear a joke.

  The ladies seemed pleased, and Mr Williams proceeded:

  III

  Then they, to whom we pris’ners were,

  Said to us tauntingly;

  ‘Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,

  And pleasant melody.’

  My master then read:

  III

  Then she, to whom I pris’ner was,

  Said to me tauntingly;

  ‘Now chear your heart, and sing a song,

  And tune your mind to joy.’

  Mr Williams proceeded:

  IV

  ‘Alas!’ said we, ‘who can once frame

  His heavy heart to sing

  The praises of our living God,

  Thus under a strange king?’

  ‘This,’ said my master, ‘is Pamela’s version.’

  IV

  ‘Alas!’ said I, ‘how can I frame

  My heavy heart to sing,

  Or tune my mind, while thus inthralled

  By such a wicked thing!’

  They were so good as to praise the simplicity of this stanza. My father said, They would make his daughter proud. ‘No,’ said my master, very generously, ‘Pamela cannot be proud. For no one is proud to hear themselves praised, but those who are not used to it. But proceed, Mr Williams.’ He read;

  V

  But yet, if I Jerusalem

  Out of heart let slide;

  Then let my fingers quite forget

  The warbling harp to guide.

  ‘Well, now,’ said my master, ‘for Pamela’s version.’

  V

  But yet, if from my innocence

  I, ev’n in thought, should slide;

  Then let my fingers quite forget

  The harpsichord to guide.

  Mr Williams proceeded.

  VI

  And let my tongue within my mouth

  Be tied for ever fast,

  If I rejoice, before I see

  Thy full deliv’rance past.

  My master read,

  VI

  And let my tongue within my mouth

  Be locked for ever fast,

  If I rejoice, before I see

  My full deliv’rance past.

  ‘Now, good sir,’ said I, ‘oblige me. Don’t read any further: pray don’t!’ ‘O, pray, madam,’ said Mr Williams, ‘let me beg to have the rest read; for I long to know whom you make the sons of Edom,266 and how you turn the psalmist’s execrations against the insulting Babylonians.’

  ‘Well, Mr Williams,’ replied I, ‘you should not have said so.’ ‘O,’ said my master, ‘that is one of the best things of all. Poor Jewkes stands for Edom’s sons; and we must not lose this, because I think it one of my Pamela’s excellencies, that, though thus oppressed, she prays for no harm upon the oppressor. Read, Mr Williams, the next stanza.’ He read;

  VII

  Therefore, O Lord, remember now,

  The cursed noise and cry,

  That Edom’s sons against us made,

  When they rased our city.

  VIII

  Remember, Lord, their cruel words,

  When, with a mighty sound,

  They cried, ‘down, yea, down with it,

  Unto the very ground.’

  ’Here seems,’ said my master, ‘in what I am going to read, a little bit of a curse, indeed; but I think it makes no ill figure in the comparison.’

  VII

  And thou, Almighty, recompence

  The evils I endure,

  From those who seek my sad disgrace,

  So causeless! to procure.

  ‘And now,’ said he, ‘for Edom’s sons! Though a little severe in the imputation.’

  VIII

  Remember, Lord, this Mrs Jewkes,

  When with a mighty sound,

  She cries, ‘down with her chastity,

  Down to the very ground!’

  ‘Now,’ said my master, ‘read the psalmist’s heavy curses’: and Mr Williams read;

  IX

  Ev’n so shalt thou, O Babylon!

  At length to dust be brought:

  And happy shall that man be called,

  That our revenge hath wrought.

  X

  Yea, blessed shall that man be called,

  That takes thy little ones,

  And dasheth them in pieces small

  Against the very stones.

  ‘Thus,’ (said he, very kindly) ‘has my Pamela turned these lines.’

  IX

  Ev’n so shalt thou, O wicked one,

  At length to shame be brought:

  And happy, shall all those be called,

  That my deliv’rance wrought.<
br />
  X

  Yea, blessed shall the man be called,

  That shames thee of thy evil,

  And saves me from thy vile attempts,

  And thee, too, from the D—1:

  ‘You see, my good friends,’ said my master, ‘that my Pamela has not an implacable spirit. But I fancy’ (smiling) ‘that this blessed man was, at that time, if the truth were known, hoped to be you, Mr Williams.’ ‘Whoever it was intended for then,’ replied Mr Williams, ‘it can be nobody now, sir, but your self.’

  I could hardly hold up my head for the praises the kind ladies were pleased to heap upon me. I am sure, by this, they are very partial in my favour; and all because my master is so good to me, and loves to hear me praised.

  We all, as before, and the cook-maid too, attended the prayers of the church in the afternoon; and my father concluded with the following stanzas of the cxlvth psalm; suitably praising God for all his mercies; but did not observe altogether the method in which they stand; which was the less necessary, he thought, as he gave out the lines.

  The Lord is just in all his ways:

  His works are holy all:

  And he is near all those that do

  In truth upon him call.

  He the desires of all of them

  That fear him, will fulfil;

  And he will hear them when they cry,

  And save them all he will.

  The eyes of all do wait on thee;

  Thou dost them all relieve:

  And thou to each sufficient food,

  In season due, dost give.

  Thou openest thy plenteous hand,

  And bounteously dost fill

  All things whatever that do live,

  With gifts of thy good will.

  My thankful mouth shall gladly speak

  The praises of the Lord:

  All flesh, to praise his holy name,

  For ever shall accord.

  We walked in the garden till tea was ready; and as we went by the back-door, my master said to me, ‘Of all the flowers in the garden, the sun-flower is the fairest!’ ‘O, sir,’ said I, ‘let that be now forgot!’ Mr Williams heard him say so, and seemed a little out of countenance: whereupon my master said, ‘I mean not to make you serious, Mr Williams. There are other scenes before me, which, in my Pamela’s dangers, give me more cause of concern, than any thing you ever did, ought to give you.’ ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘you are very generous.’