‘I make no doubt,’ said he, ‘but I shall be very happy; and hope you will be so too. I have no very enormous vices to gratify; though I pretend not to the greatest purity neither, my girl.’ I was half sorry to hear him say this; because he said it with an air of more levity than altogether suited the subjects preceding; and as if he was preparing me to expect, that he would not be from proper motives, respecting his own future happiness, a quite good man. It hurt me for his own dear sake; and I had a kind of impulse upon me to say, ‘If, sir, you can account for your actions to your own mind, I shall always think you right. But our greatest happiness here, is of very short duration: this life at the longest, forgive my seriousness, is a poor transitory one; and I hope we shall be so happy as to be enabled to look forward to another, where our pleasures will be everlasting.’
‘You say well, Pamela; and I shall, by degrees, be more habituated to this way of thinking, as I more and more converse with you. But you must not be over serious with me, all at once; yet I charge you, never forbear to mingle your sweet divinity in your conversation, whenever it can be brought in à propos,271 and with such a chearfulness of temper, as shall not throw a cloud over our innocent enjoyments.’
I was abashed at this, and silent, fearing I had offended. What I said was, indeed, very bold, the early days considered: but he kindly said, ‘If you attend rightly to what I said, I need not repeat, that I mean not to discourage you from suggesting to me, on every proper occasion, the pious impulses of your own amiable mind. You, my Pamela, are not good by chance; but on principle.’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘you will be always indulgent, I make no doubt, so long as I mean well.’
He made me dine with him, and would eat nothing but what I helped him to. Indeed my heart is, every hour, more and more enlarged with his goodness and condescension. But still, what ails me, I wonder! a strange sort of weight hangs upon my mind, which makes me often sigh involuntarily, and damps, at times, the pleasures of my delightful prospects. I hope this is not ominous. I hope it is owing only to the weakness of an over thoughtful mind, on an occasion the most solemn and important of one’s life, next to the last scene, which shuts up all.
I could be very serious! But I will commit all my ways to that Providence, which hitherto has so wonderfully conducted me, through real evils, to this hopeful situation.
I only fear, and surely, I have great reason, that I shall be too unworthy to hold the affections of so fine a man. But my continual prayer shall be for humility, as what, next to the Divine Grace, will be my surest guard, in the state of life to which I am going to be exalted. And don’t cease your prayers for me, my dear parents; for, perhaps, this new condition may be subject to still worse hazards than those I have escaped; as would be the case, were conceitedness, vanity, and pride, to take hold of my heart! and if, for my sins, I were to be left to my own conduct, a frail bark in a tempestuous ocean, without ballast, or other pilot than my own inconsiderate will. But my master said, on another occasion, that those who doubted most, always erred least; and I hope, I shall always doubt my own worthiness!
I will not trouble you with twenty sweet agreeable things that passed in conversation with my excellent benefactor; nor with an account of the civilities of Monsieur Colbrand, Mrs Jewkes, and all the servants, who seem to be highly pleased with me, and with my conduct to them: and as my master, hitherto, finds no fault, that I go too low, nor they that I carry it too high, I hope I shall continue to have every body’s good-will. But yet, will I not seek to gain that of any one by meannesses or debasements: but aim at an uniform and regular conduct, willing to conceal involuntary errors, as I would have my own forgiven; and not too industrious to discover real ones, that may be of no bad consequence, and unlikely to be repeated: yet not to hide such as might encourage bad hearts, or unclean hands, in cases where my master shall receive damage, or where the morals of the transgressors shall appear wilfully and habitually corrupt. In short, I will endeavour, as much as I can, that good servants shall in me find a kind encourager; indifferent ones be made better, by exciting in them a laudable emulation; and bad ones, if not quite irreclaimable, reformed by kindness, expostulation, and if those are ineffectual, by menaces; but most by a good example.
All this, if God pleases.
WEDNESDAY
Now, my dear parents, I have but this one day, between me and the most solemn rite that can be performed. My heart cannot yet shake off this heavy weight. Sure I am ungrateful to the Divine Goodness, and the favour of the best of benefactors! Yet I hope I am not! For, at times, my mind is all joy, at the prospect of what good tomorrow’s happy solemnity may possibly, by the leave of my generous master, put it into my power to do.
WEDNESDAY Evening
My dear master is all tenderness. He sees my weakness, and generously pities and comforts me. I begged to be excused supper; but he led me down himself from my closet; and placed me by him, bidding Abraham not wait. I could not eat, and yet I tried, for fear he should be angry. He kindly forbore to hint any thing of the awful, yet delightful to-morrow! and put, now-and-then, a little bit on my plate, and guided it to my lips. I was concerned to receive his goodness with so ill a grace; and told him I was really ashamed of myself. ‘You are, indeed, my dear girl,’ said he, ‘too thoughtful: but I am not a very dreadful enemy, I hope.’ ‘All, all, sir,’ said I, ‘is owing to the sense I have of my own unworthiness.’
He rung for the things to be taken away; and then sat down by me, and put his kind arms about me, and said the most generous things that ever dropped from the honey-flowing mouth of love: all I have not time to repeat: some I will; and, O indulge your foolish daughter, who troubles you with her nonsense; because what she has to say, is so affecting to her; and because, if she went to-bed, she could not sleep.
‘This sweet anxiety in my Pamela,’ said he, ‘on the near approach of the solemnity which shall make us one, when nothing of dishonour is apprehended, shews me most abundantly, what a wretch I was to attempt such purity with a worse intention! No wonder, that one so virtuous, should find herself deserted of life itself on a violence so dreadful to her, and seek a refuge in the shades of death. But now, my dearest Pamela, that you have seen a purity on my side, nearly equal to your now; why all this affecting, yet sweet confusion? You have a generous friend, my dear girl in me; a protector now, not a violater of your innocence: why then, this strange perplexity, this sweet confusion?’
‘O sir,’ said I, and hid my face on his arm, ‘expect not reason from the foolish Pamela. You should have indulged me in my closet. I am ready to beat myself for this ungrateful return to your goodness. But goodness, added to goodness every moment, and the sense of my own unworthiness, quite overcome my spirits!’
‘Now,’ said the generous man, ‘will I, though reluctantly, make a proposal to my sweet girl. If I have been too pressing for the day: if another day will be more obliging: if you have apprehensiveness that you will not then have; although I have for these three days past, thought every tedious hour a day, if you earnestly desire it, I will postpone it. Say, my dear girl, freely say; but accept not my proposal without great reason; which yet I will not ask for.’
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘this is a most generous instance of your kind consideration for me. But I fear – yes, I fear, it will be too much the same thing, some days hence, when the happy, yet, fool that I am! Awful time, shall be equally near.’
‘Kind, lovely girl,’ said he, ‘now do I see you are to be trusted with power, from the generous use you make of it! Not one light word, or free look, from me, shall wound your nicest thoughts; but try however, to subdue this unseasonable timidity. I persuade myself, you will, if you can.’
‘Indeed, sir! I will; for I am quite ashamed of myself, with such charming views before me! The honours you do me! the kindness you shew me! quite overwhelm me; and raise in me such a sense of my unworthiness - That, sir, is the thing; for I do assure you that my heart has not the least misgiving thought of your generous goodness; and I should a
bhor it, if it were capable of the least affectation.’
‘Sweet good girl,’ he called me, and folded me to his bosom: ‘but now tell me,’ said he, ‘what I can do to make this dear flutterer’ (my heart he meant) ‘entirely easy?’
‘Leave me, dear good sir, leave me a little to myself, and I will take my heart more severely to task, than your goodness will let you do: and I will present it to you, a worthier offering than at present its wayward follies will let it seem to be. But one thing is, I have no kind friend of my own sex, to communicate my foolish thoughts to, and to be strengthened by her advice: and then left to myself. What a weak silly creature am I!’
He kindly withdrew, to give me time to recollect myself, and in about half an hour returned. And then, that he might not begin at once upon the subject, and yet might speak something very agreeable to me, he said, ‘Your father and mother have had a great deal of talk, by this time, about you, Pamela.’ ‘Your goodness, sir,’ returned I, ‘has made them quite happy. But I can’t help being concerned about Lady Davers.’
‘I am vexed,’ said he, ‘I did not hear her servant out; because it runs in my head, he talked somewhat about her coming hither. She will meet with but an indifferent reception from me, unless she comes resolved to behave better than she writes.’
‘Pray, sir,’ said I, ‘be pleased to bear with my good lady, for two reasons: first, because she is your sister, and, to be sure, may very well think, what all the world will, that you have greatly undervalued yourself in making me happy. And next, because, if her ladyship finds you out of temper with her, it will incense her still more against me.’
‘We have more proud ladies than my sister Davers,’ said he, ‘in our other neighbourhood, who perhaps have still less reason than she to be punctilious about their descent, and yet will govern themselves by her example, and say, “Why, his own sister will not visit him!” If therefore I can subdue her spirit, which is more than her husband ever could, or indeed any body else, it is a great point gained: and, if she gives me reason, I’ll try for it.’
‘Well, but my dear girl,’ continued he, ‘may I not say one word about to-morrow?’ ‘I hope I shall be less a fool, sir,’ replied I: ‘I have talked as harshly to my heart, as Lady Davers can do, and the naughty thing suggests to me a better behaviour.’
Saluting me, ‘I took notice, Pamela,’ said he, ‘of what you observed, that you have none of your own sex with you: I think it is a little hard upon you. I should have liked to have had Miss Darnford with you; but then her sister must have been asked; and in that case, I might as well make a public wedding; which, you know, would have required clothes, and other preparation. Besides,’ added he, ‘a proposal was once made me of that second sister, who has five or six272 thousand pounds more than the other, left her by a godmother, and she can’t help being a little piqued on her being disappointed: though,’ continued he, ‘it was a proposal they could not expect should succeed; for there is nothing attracting either in her person or mind: and her fortune, as that must have been the only inducement, would not do by any means.’
‘I am thinking, sir,’ said I, ‘that were you to have married 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, paying down the 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 my good lady, your mother! So much oppressed by your favours, it is the less wonder that I cannot look up with the confidence that otherwise I might have had on this awful occasion.’
‘Where the power is wanting, there is,’ replied he, ‘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 recompence you for what I have made you suffer. You have had too many exercises for your virtue; and have nobly overcome; and who shall grudge you the reward of the dear bought victory? This affair is entirely the act of my own will. I glory in being able to distinguish so much excellence; and my fortune is the more valuable to me, as it enables me, in the world’s eye, to do credit to your virtue, and to make you happy.’
‘Good, dear sir, what can I say! How poor is it to have nothing but words to return for such generous deeds! And to say, I wish – What is a wish, but the acknowledged want of power, and a demonstration of one’s poverty in every thing but will.’
‘And that, my dear girl, is every thing! ’Tis all I want! ’Tis all that heaven itself requires of us! But no more upon these topics; and yet all that you have said, arises from the natural impulses of a generous and grateful heart. But I want not to be employed in settlements. I have possessions ample enough for us both; and you deserve to share them with me; and you shall, with as little reserve, as if you had brought me what the world reckons an equivalent: for in my own opinion, you bring me what is infinitely more valuable, an experienced truth, a well-tried virtue, and an understanding and genteel behaviour that will do credit to the station you will be placed in: to say nothing of this sweet person, that itself might captivate a monarch; and of your natural meekness and sweetness of disposition, in which you have no equal.’
Thus kind, soothing, and affectionate, was the dear gentleman to the unworthy, doubting, yet assured Pamela; and thus patiently did he indulge, and generously pardon, my weakness.
He offered to go himself to Mrs Jones in the morning, and reveal his intentions to her, and desire her secrecy and presence; but I said, that would disoblige the Miss Darnfords. ‘No, sir,’ said I, ‘I will entirely cast myself on your generous kindness; for why should I seem to fear my kind protector, 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, I can: she is very civil to me now: and her former wickedness I will forgive, because you, sir, seem desirous that I should.’
‘Well,’ said he, ‘I will call her in, if you please.’ I humbly bowed my assent. 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.’ ‘We intend tomorrow,’ pursued he, ‘for our wedding-day. I have particular reasons, respecting myself and Lady Davers, to have our marriage kept from the knowledge of all my other servants for some time.’ ‘Very well, sir,’ said Mrs Jewkes, curtseying low to my master, and still lower, poor soul! to me. (How can I hurt such a one, wicked as she has been, were it in my power?)273 ‘I will take care that no living soul shall know it for me.’ And looked highly delighted with the confidence placed in her. ‘Mr Peters and Mr Williams,’ continued my master, ‘are to be here to breakfast with me, as if only to see my little chapel. As soon as the ceremony is over, we will take an airing in the chariot, as we have done at other times; and so it will not be wondered that we are dressed. And Mr Peters and Mr Williams have promised secrecy, and will go home. I believe, however, on second thoughts, you cannot well avoid letting one of the maids into the secret; but that I leave to you.’
‘Sir,’ replied she, ‘we all concluded it would be in a few days; and I doubt it cannot be long a secret.’ ‘I don’t desire it should,’ replied he; ‘but you know we are not provided for a public wedding, and I shall declare it when we go to Bedfordshire, which will not be long. But the men, who lie in the offices, need not know it; for, by some means or other, my sister Davers is acquainted with 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 that you were displeased at.’
‘I hope,’ said he, ‘we shall be set out for the other house first; and so shall be pleased she loses her labour.’ ‘Sir,’ continued she, ‘her ladyship proposes to be here time enough to hinder your nuptials; which she supposes, as we did, will be the latter end of next week.’ ‘Let her come,’ said he; ‘but yet I desire n
ot to see her.’
Mrs Jewkes then took courage. ‘I beg your honour’s pardon,’ said she, curtseying, ‘for addressing myself to my lady that is soon to be.’ Then turning to me, ‘Give me leave, madam,’ said she, ‘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 forward: and shall not offer to set my good master against any one whom he pleases to approve. And as to his old servants, I shall always value them, and never presume to dictate to his choice, or influence it by my own caprices.’
‘Mrs Jewkes,’ said my master, ‘you find you have no cause for apprehension. My Pamela is very placable; and as we have both been sinners together, we must be both 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 resentment, at the command of so great and so kind a benefactor.’
‘You are very good to me, madam,’ said she; ‘and you may depend upon it, I will endeavour to atone for all my past behaviour to you 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 in her heart, she chuses you to attend her in the morning, and you must keep up her spirits.’ ‘I shall,’ replied she, ‘be very proud of the honour.’ And withdrew, curtseying, and repeating her promises of care and secrecy.
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