Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  ‘O dearest, dear sir,’ said I, ‘have you no more of your injunctions to favour me with? They delight and improve me at the same time!’

  ‘I think of no more at present,’ said he: ‘for it would be needless to say, how much I value you for your natural sweetness of temper, and for that innocent vivacity which gives to your lovely countenance its principal grace; and which you must not permit any sudden accident to overcloud. When any thing unpleasing happens, let me expect that, in a quarter of an hour, at farthest, you will begin to mistrust yourself, and apply to your glass; and if you see a gloom arising or arisen, banish it instantly; resume your former chearful-ness; and then, my lovely girl, whose heart must always be seen in her face, and who cannot be a hypocrite, will find this a means to smooth her temper also.’

  He then took notice of the discomposure that he had seen in some ladies, on their being broken in upon by unexpected guests. ‘I am sure,’ said he, ‘I never shall have reason to caution my Pamela on any subject that will make her husband look little, or herself unprepared to welcome his friends. But yet I will say, that I expect of my dearest love, that she will accustom herself to an uniform complaisance. That however ill or well provided we may be for the reception of unexpected guests, she shew no flutter or discomposure. That whoever she may have in her company at the time, she signify not, by the least reserved look, that the stranger is come at a time she wished he had not: and that she will be chearful, kind, obliging to all; and if to any one more than another, to such as have the least reason to expect it from her, or who are of the lowest rank at the table; for thus will she, at the very time that she chears the doubting mind, assure all the rest, and diffuse ease, pleasure, and joy, around my board.

  ‘After what I have said, I need not warn my love, that she suffer not any sudden accident to ruffle her temper. I shall never forget the discomposure that Mrs Arthur gave herself on one of her footmen’s happening to stumble, and let fall a fine China dish; and she was so sincere in it, that she suffered it to spread all round the table, and not one of the company, myself excepted, but either became her consoler, or fell into stories of the like misfortunes; and, for the rest of the evening, we were turned into blundering footmen, and careless servants.’

  I thankfully promised to attend to his kind hints; and then I retired to dress, which I did in my best clothes; and, on enquiry, hearing he was in the garden, I went to attend him.

  I found him reading in the little alcove. ‘You are busy, sir?’ said I.

  He put up the paper he was reading, and said, ‘I can have no business of equal value to your company. Sit down, my Pamela,’ taking my hand, and placing me by him. ‘You are a sweet, obliging girl! I see you have begun with observing one of my injunctions, as you call them. You are early dressed; and charmingly too! Now, my dear, be so kind as to find some fault with me, and tell me what you would wish me to do, to appear still more agreeable to you than I am.’

  ‘O sir,’ said I; and I could have kissed him, but for shame; ‘I have not one single thing to wish for; no, not one. Do you think,’ proceeded I, (for I knew not how to stop) ‘that your Pamela has no conscience? Let me assure you, sir, that less, much less than one half of the favours you have so generously conferred upon me, would have exceeded my utmost wishes.’

  ‘My angel,’ said he, eagerly taking my hand between both his, and seemed about to say more agreeable things; but my overflowing gratitude compelled ras, as I may say, to go on. ‘Why don’t you, dear sir! ask me quite contrary questions? Don’t I see, with delight, that your lessons are strengthened by your own example? For here, sir, in the first place, you that have enjoined me to be dressed for the day before dinner, are most charmingly dressed yourself.

  ‘Then, sir, when you command me, at your table, to chear the doubting mind, and to behave most kindly to those who have least reason to expect distinction, and are of the lowest rank; how sweetly, in every instance that could possibly occur, have you done this yourself, by your Pamela! And how have you (to use your own words) diffused ease, pleasure, and joy, around my heart!

  ‘Then again, when you bid me not be disturbed by little accidents, or by strangers coming in upon me unexpectedly, what an example did you give me of your own observation of this excellent rule, when, on our wedding-day, you permitted not the intrusion of Sir Charles Hargrave, and the other two gentlemen, which prevented our dining together on that chosen day, so to disturb you, as to hinder your entertaining them pleasantly, and parting with them kindly! What charming instances are these of your practising what you teach!’

  ‘These observations are very much to my advantage, my dear,’ said he: ‘but I fear these instances were too accidental to give me a title to your kind compliment: allow me therefore to say, that if I do not always make my practice so well confirm my doctrines, my Pamela must not expect that my imperfections will be a plea for her non-observance of my lessons, as you call them; for, I doubt, I shall never be half so perfect as you; and so I cannot permit you to recede in your goodness, although I may find myself unable to advance, as I ought, in my duty.’

  ‘I hope, sir,’ said I, ‘by God’s grace, I never shall.’

  He was pleased to take notice of my dress; and, spanning my waist with his hands,286 said, ‘What a sweet shape is here! It would make one regret to lose it: and yet, my Pamela, I shall think nothing but that loss wanting, to complete my happiness.’

  I put my bold hand before his mouth. He kissed my hand, and said, ‘Tell me! Speak! Say! Would such a circumstance be unwelcome to my Pamela?’ ‘I will say, sir,’ said I, and hid my blushing face on his shoulder, ‘that your wishes, in every thing, shall be mine.’ He pressed me to his kind heart, and changed the subject. I was not too free, I hope?

  Thus we talked, till we heard the coaches; and then he said, ‘Stay in the garden, my dear, and I’ll bring the company to you.’ He did so; and as soon as I beheld them, I hastened towards them to shorten the distance.

  ‘How do you do, my dear?’ said Miss Darnford. ‘You look so easy, so chearful, that I know you will grant the request I have to make to you: you know what it is: to dance at your wedding. Indeed, I must not be refused; for I shall long to be there.’ Mrs Jones was pleased to say, I looked like an angel. And Mrs Peters, that I improved upon them every time they saw me. Lady Darn-ford also made me a fine compliment, and said, I looked freer and easier every time she saw me. Dear ladies! thought I, I wish you would spare these compliments; for I shall have some jest, I doubt, passed upon me, by-and-by, that will make me suffer for them.

  Mr Peters said, softly, ‘God bless you, dear daughter! But not even my wife knows it.’

  Sir Simon came to me last, and took my hand, and holding it with both his, ‘Mr B. by your leave,’ said he; and kissed my hand five or six times; making a very free jest, by way of compliment, in his way.

  A young rake, my dear mother, is hardly tolerable; but an old rake, and an old beau, are two very unnatural things! And all this before daughters, women-grown! I whispered my Mr B. [what a proud word is that! my Mr B.!] a little after, ‘I fear,’ said I, ‘I shall suffer from Sir Simon’s free jests by-and-by, when you reveal the matter.’ ‘’Tis his way, my dear,’ said he; ‘we must give him the hearing.’

  Miss Nanny Darnford said to me, with a sort of half-grave, ironical air, ‘Give me leave to hope, madam, that you will permit my sister, if not me, to be present at the ceremony: she is quite wild about it.’ I curt’sied, and only said, ‘You are all very good to me, ladies.’

  My dear Mr B. [he says, I must speak to him, and write of him, as my husband and lover both in one] took me aside, and said, ‘Shall I lead them to the alcove, and tell them there, or stay till we go in to dinner?’ ‘Be pleased, sir,’ said I, ‘to defer it till they are going away.’ ‘You have hitherto,’ said he, ‘concealed your ring from the servants. If you will not have me communicate the affair till then, you must pull it off, or the ladies and Sir Simon will see it.’

  Before I cou
ld reply, Mrs Jewkes, attended by Nan, officiously287 waddled to us with two bottles of Rhenish,288 (what she herself dearly loves) and. sugar on a salver; and, making an aukward apology, by Mr B.’s encouragement, poured out a glass, and to his surprize, (though not disagreeable to him, I saw) but much more to mine, offered it to me, with a low curt’sy, saying, ‘Will you, madam, begin?’ ‘No,’ said I; ‘my master, to be sure’: my face, as I felt, in a glow.

  They all took the hint: ‘I’ll be hanged,’ said Miss Darnford, ‘if they have not stolen a wedding! ‘’ It must certainly be so! ‘said Mrs Peters. ‘Ah! Mr Peters! Where were you, and Mr Williams, last Thursday morning?’ ‘Let me alone,’ said Sir Simon, ‘let me alone; if any thing has been stolen, I’ll find it out; I’m a justice of peace, you know. Come, madam,’ taking my hand, ‘answer me by the oath you have taken: Are you married, or not?’

  Mr B. smiled to see me so like a fool. ‘Pray, Sir Simon,’ said I. ‘I thought,’ replied he, ‘you did not look so smiling upon us for nothing.’ In the kindest manner my dear Mr B. took my other hand. ‘Since your blushes, my dearest love, discover you, be not ashamed of your husband: I never can be of my wife.’

  ‘Now,’ said Miss Darnford, ‘I am quite angry.’ ‘And I,’ said Lady Darnford, ‘am quite pleased; let me give you joy, dear Mrs B.’ Every one joined in the wish, and saluted me; while Mrs Jewkes shook her sides, and seemed highly pleased to be a means of discovering it.

  ‘Nobody,’ said Mr B., ‘wishes me joy.’ ‘Nobody need,’ said Mrs Jones, very obligingly; ‘since, with such a bride, you want no good wishes!’ He saluted each of the ladies; and, when he came to me, he said before them all, ‘Now, my lovely bride, my sweet Pamela, let me conclude with you. May my love and my life in this world end together!’

  Every one applauded him for the honour he did to his own generous choice. But I was forced to stand many more jests afterwards. And Sir Simon said several times, as preludes to his freedoms, ‘Come, come, madam, now you are become one of us, I shall be a little less scrupulous than I have been, I will assure you.’

  When we went in to dinner, my dear Mr B. led me to the upper end of the table. I curtesied low to him, and to the elder ladies, and made no scruple to take the place he led me to; and performed the honours of it with pretty tolerable presence of mind.

  Mr B. with difficulty got them to give up the ball; on promising to be down again before winter; and on accepting of an invitation to meet this whole company at Sir Simon Darnford’s to-morrow evening; by way of taking leave of them, he designing to set out on Wednesday morning for Bedfordshire.

  The company intended to have staid supper; but soon after we had dined, a man and horse came express from a gentleman of Mr B.’s acquaintance, whose name is Carlton, and who being taken dangerously ill, begged to see him as soon as possible. And so they all took leave of us.

  Mr Carlton lives near sixteen289 miles off. Mr B. has a mortgage upon a considerable part of his estate. There is a great friendship between them. At parting with me, he bid me not expect him this night, if he returned not by eleven. ‘Poor Mr Carlton and I,’ said he, ‘have pretty large concerns together, and if he should be very ill, and would be comforted by my presence, charity will not let me refuse it.’

  It is now eleven290 o’clock at night, and I fear he will not return. I am afraid his friend is very ill. Methinks I should be sorry any grief should touch his generous heart; yet there is no living in. this world without many’ occasions for concern, even in the most prosperous state. It is fit it should be so; or else, poor wretches as we are! we should look no further; but be like travellers on a journey homeward, who, meeting with good entertainment at some inn on the way, put up their rest there, and never think of pursuing their journey to their proper home. This, I remember, was often a reflection of my good old lady, to whom I owe it.

  I made Mrs Jewkes sup with me. She was much pleased with my condescension, as she called it; and for my freedom with her, as we sat together. I could see by her manner, that she remembered with shame some parts of her past wickedness to me. She looked down, sat on the edge of her chair, her voice so gentle, and, ‘Yes, madam,’ and ‘No, madam’; almost all she could say.291 Poor wretch! I pitied her sometimes. May it be in my power to subdue her by kindness! That shall not be wanting, if I see it will do. Yet I am afraid that her change of behaviour is more owing to her respect for my present condition than to principle. Yet great is the force of a good example in superiors. Mine, I hope, will not be wanting.

  How I long to be doing some good! All that is past yet, is my dear master’s!

  God return him safe to my wishes! Every hour seems ten since I saw him. If he would not think my love troublesome, I should be all love as well as duty; for I have a truly grateful spirit; and so I ought to have; for I have nothing but my love of him to value myself upon.

  MONDAY Morning, Seven o’ clock 292

  I have just received a letter from my best friend. This is a copy of it; directed to me by my maiden name, because of the servant who brought it:

  ‘My dearest Love,

  Monday Morning, 3 o’clock

  ‘As I desired you not to expect me, if I returned not by eleven last night, I hope my absence did not discompose you.

  ‘I sat up with my poor friend Carlton all night. He entreats me not to leave him. His hours seem to be numbered. A very few, it is believed, will shut up the solemn scene. He is, however, sensible. I have made his heart, and the hearts of his wife and children, easy in the assurances of my kindness to them. I left the poor man, for a few moments, praying for a release; and blessing me.

  ‘I could have wished, so much has this melancholy scene affected me, that we had not engaged ourselves to Sir Simon and the good neighbourhood, for this night: but since the engagement must take place, let me beg of you, my dear, to take the chariot, and go to Sir Simon’s; the sooner in the day, the more obliging it will be to all your admiring friends. I hope to join you there by your tea-time in the afternoon. It will be six miles difference to me, and I know the good company will excuse dress on the occasion.

  ‘I count every hour of this little absence for a day: for I am, with the utmost sincerity, my dearest love,

  For ever your’s,

  W.B.293

  ‘If you could dine with Sir Simon and the ladies, it would be a freedom they would be delighted with; and the more, as they expect not such a favour.’

  God preserve the health of my dearest Mr B. I hope it will not suffer by his fatigues; and God bless him for his goodness to his sick friend and the distressed family. The least intimation of his pleasure shall be a command to me. I have ordered the chariot to be got ready. I will go and dine with Lady Darnford. I am already dressed.

  Mrs Jewkes is sent for down. The trampling of horses in the court-yard. Visitors are come. A chariot and six.294 Coronets on the chariot. Who can they be? They have alighted, and come into the house.

  Dreadful! Dreadful! What shall I do? Lady Davers! Lady Davers, her own self! And my kind protector a great, great many miles off!

  Mrs Jewkes, out of breath, tells me this, and says, she is enquiring for my master and me. How I tremble! I can hardly hold my pen. She asked her, it seems, if I was whored yet? There’s a word for a lady’s mouth! Mrs Jewkes says, she knew not what to answer. ‘She is not married, I hope!’ said my lady. ‘No,’ replied Mrs Jewkes. ‘I am glad of that!’ said my lady. Mrs Jewkes apologized to me, as it was to be a secret at present, for denying that I was married.

  I can write no more at present. Lord bless me! I am all in terrors! I will try to get away.

  Let me tell you all, my dear mother, just as it passed. I have been dreadfully – But you shall hear all as it passed.

  ‘I will run away, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I. ‘Let the chariot go to the further end of the elm-walk, and I will fly to it unperceived.’ ‘But she is enquiring for you, madam. I said you were within, but going out. She would see you presently, she said, as soon as she could have p
atience.’ ‘What did she call me, Mrs Jewkes?’ ‘The creature, madam: “I will see the creature” said she, “as soon as I can have patience.” ’ ‘Ay, but,’ replied I, ‘the creature won’t see her, if she can help it. Pray, Mrs Jewkes, favour my escape for this once; for I am sadly frighted.’

  ‘I’ll bid the chariot go down as you order,’ said she, ‘and wait till you come; and I’ll step down, and shut the hall-door, that you may pass unobserved; for she sits cooling herself in the parlour over-against the stair-case.’ ‘That’s a good Mrs Jewkes!’ said I: ‘but who has she with her?’ ‘Her woman,’ answered she, ‘and her nephew; but he came on horseback, and is gone into the stables; and they have three footmen.’ ‘And I wish,’ said I, ‘they were all three hundred miles off! What shall I do!’

  Mrs Jewkes told me, I must go down, or my lady would come up. ‘What does she call me now?’ ‘Wench, madam: “Bid the wench come down to me.” Her nephew and her woman are with her.’

  ‘I can’t go!’ said I, ‘and that’s enough! You might contrive it, that I might get out, if you would.’ ‘Indeed, madam, I cannot: for I would have shut the door, and she bid me let it stand open; and there she sits over-against the stair-case.’ ‘Then,’ said I, fanning myself, ‘I’ll get out of the window, I think; I am sadly frighted!’ ‘I wonder you so much disturb yourself, madam!’ said Mrs Jewkes. ‘You’re on the right side of the hedge,295 I’m sure; and were it my case, I would not be so discomposed for any body.’ ‘Ay,’ said I, ‘but who can help constitution? I dare say, you would no more be so discomposed, than I can help it.’ ‘Indeed, madam, if I were you, I would put on an air as mistress of the house, as you are, and go and salute her ladyship, and bid her welcome.’ ‘Fine talking!’ replied I; ‘and be cussed for my civility! How unlucky this is, that your good master is abroad!’