Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  4. I must never make a compliment to any body at his expence.

  5. I must not be guilty of any acts of wilful meanness! – There is a great deal meant in this; and I will endeavour to observe it. The occasion on which he mentions this, explains its; That I must say nothing, though in anger, that is spiteful, malicious, disrespectful, or undutiful.

  6. I must bear with him, even when I find him in the wrong. –This may be a little hard, as the case may be circumstanced.

  I wonder whether poor Miss Sally Godfrey be living or dead.

  7. I must be as flexible as the reed in the fable; lest, by resisting the tempest, like the oak, I be torn up by the roots. – I will do the best I can. There is no great likelihood, I hope, that I should be very perverse; yet, surely, the tempest will not lay me quite level with the ground, if I mean not perverseness.

  8. The education of young people of condition, he says, is generally wrong. – Memorandum, That if any part of children’s education fall to my lot, I never indulge or humour them in things that they ought to be restrained in.

  9. That I accustom them to bear disappointments and controul.

  10. That I suffer them not to be too much indulged in their infancy.

  11. Nor at school.

  12. Nor spoil them when they come home.

  13. For that children generally extend their perverseness from the nurse to the schoolmaster; from the schoolmaster to the parents.

  14. And, in their next step, as a proper punishment for all, make themselves unhappy.

  15. Undutiful and perverse children, he observes, generally make bad husbands and wives – And, most probably, bad masters and mistresses.

  16. Not being subject to be controuled early, he observes, they cannot, when married, bear with each other.

  17. That the fault lying deep, and in the minds of each, neither will mend it.

  18. Whence follow misunderstandings, quarrels, appeals, ineffectual reconciliations, separations, elopements – or, at best, indifference; perhaps, aversion. – Memorandum, A good image of unhappy wedlock, in the words, YAWNING HUSBAND, and VAPOURISH WIFE, when together: but separate, both in high spirits, and quite alive.

  19. Few married persons, he says, behave as he likes. – Let me ponder this with awe, for my improvement.

  20. Some men can compromise with their wives for quietness-sake; but he cannot. – Indeed, I believe that’s trues nor do I desire he should.

  21. Love before marriage, he thinks, is absolutely necessary. – Generally speaking, I believe it is.

  22. He says, there are fewer instances of mens loving better after marriage, than of womens. – But why so? I wish he had given his reasons for this! I fancy they would not have been to the credit of his own sex.

  23. He insists upon it, that a woman should give her husband reason to think she prefers him before all men. – No doubt, this should be so.

  24. If she would overcome, he says, it must be by sweetness and complaisance. – A hard lesson, I doubt, where one’s judgment is not convinced. We all dearly love to be thought in the right, in any debated point. I am afraid this doctrine, if enforced, would tend to make an honest wife a hypocrite!337

  25. Yet she must not shew such a slavish complaisance, as should rather seem the effect of her insensibility, than of her judgment or affection. – Pretty tolerable.

  26. The words COMMAND and OBEY, he says, shall be blotted out of his vocabulary. – Very good! Most chearfully do I subscribe to this!

  27. A man should desire nothing of his wife, but what is reasonable and just. – To be sure, that is right. Yet who, all this time, is to be the judge?

  28. She must not shew reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt, in obliging him; and that too at half a word; and must not be bidden twice to do one thing. – Very lordly! But may not there be some occasions, where this may be a little dispensed with I But he says afterwards, indeed,

  29. That this must be only while he took care to make her compliance reasonable, and consistent with her free agency, in points that ought to be allowed her. – Come, this is pretty well, considering. Yet, again I ask– Who is to be the judge?

  30. If he be set upon a wrong thing, she must not dispute with him, but do it, and expostulate afterwards. – 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 ofwomen.338 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. May I not say, on either side?

  32. The greatest quarrels among friends (and wives and husbands are, or should be, friends) he says, arise from small matters. – I believe this is very true; for I had like to have had anger, when I intended very well.

  33. A wife, he says, 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 it is very just.

  34. 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: because,

  36. That rakes cannot have a greater encouragement to attempt a married woman’s virtue, than her slight opinion of her husband. – To be sure, this stands to reason, and is a good lesson.

  37. A wife, he says, should therefore draw a kind veil over her husband’s faults.

  38. Such as she could not conceal, she should extenuate.

  39. She should place his virtues in an advantageous light.

  40. And shew the world, that he had her good opinion.

  41. She must value his friends for his sake.

  42. She must be chearful and easy in her behaviour, to whomsoever he brings home with him.

  43. Whatever fault she sees in him, she must 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 of her own.

  45. He says, he cannot be contented to be only moderately happy in a wife.

  46. A wife should take care, he says, 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. His imperfections, he says, must not be a plea for hers. – To be sure, a woman cannot be too good; but’ tis to be hoped, men, who, to the honour of our sex, he seems to think, cannot be so good as we, will allow a little. But, indeed, he hints,

  48. That a husband, who expects all this, is to be incapable of returning insult for condescension; and ought not to abridge her of any privilege of her sex.

  Well, my dear parents, I think this last crowns the rest, and makes them all very tolerable; since a generous man, and a man of sense, cannot be too much obliged. And, as I have the happiness to call such a one mine, I shall be very unworthy, if I do not make the obliging of him my whole study.

  Yet, after all, you will see I have not the easiest task in the world before me. But, knowing my own heart, and that I shall not wilfully err, I have the less to fear.

  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 seems to me myself not to be quite right; especially so early in my marriage, 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): 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 sake, even more than for mine.

  WEDNESDAY, the Seventh

  When I arose in the morning, passing by Lady Davers’s chamber-door, and seeing it open, and hearing her talking to her woman, I stept in, and enquired after her night’s rest.

  She was in bed, and took kindly my visit, and asked me, when we set out for Bedfordshire? ‘I can’t tell, madam,’ said I:
‘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, that 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. Mrs Jewkes, too, has given Worden 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 hardly used. But I ought to forget it all, and be thankful.’

  ‘Why,’ said she, ‘as far as I can find, ’tis a mercy you are here now. I was greatly moved with some part of your story: and you have really made a noble stand, and deserve the praises of all our sex.’

  ‘It was God’s goodness that sustained me, madam,’ replied I.

  ‘Why,’ said she, ‘’tis the more extraordinary, because, I believe, if the truth were known, you loved the wretch not a little. Speak your mind freely, child. You may say anything before Worden.’ ‘While my trials lasted, madam,’ answered I, ‘I had not a thought of any thing, but to preserve my innocence; I did not, I could not, think 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 highly of all his good actions; and, though I abhorred his attempts upon me, yet I could not hate him; and always wished him well; but I did not know, 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 repent of his treatment of you, and to admire your virtue, and to profess honourable love to you, what did you think?’

  ‘Think! and please your ladyship, I did not know what to think: I could neither hope nor believe so great an honour would fall to my lot: and I feared more from his kindness, for some time, than I had done from his unkindness. And, having had a private intimation of a sham-marriage intended, by means of a man who was to personate a clergyman, my mind was kept in too much suspense, to be greatly overjoyed at his declaration.’

  ‘I think,’ said her ladyship, ‘he did make two or three attempts upon you in Bedfordshire?’ ‘Yes, madam, he was very wicked, to be sure.’

  ‘And here, at this house, he owns, he proposed very high articles to you.’ ‘Yes, madam; but I rejected them with great disdain; and was resolved to die rather than to be a kept creature.’

  ‘He after that attempted you, I think: did he not?’

  ‘O yes, madam! 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.’

  I then, at her request, acquainted her with that dreadful attempt, and how I fell into fits; which saved me.

  ‘Any attempts after this very base one?’ asked she.

  ‘He was not, answered I, so good as he should have been, once in the garden afterwards: but my watchfulness –’

  ‘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 his threatenings?’ said she: ‘for he is a most daring mortal! He has none of your puny hearts, but is as bold as a lion; and, boy and man, he never feared any thing. I myself; added she, ‘have a pretty good spirit; but when I have made him really angry, I have always been forced to make it up with him, as well as I could. For, child, he is not, as you have heard me say before, one that is easily reconciled. 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,339 to fetch me back again; and has been exceedingly kind and gracious to me ever since; and, at last, made me happy.’

  ‘That turning you away,’ said she, ‘one hour, and sending after you the next, is exactly like my brother. If you were to vex him by any fault he should think wilful, I should not wonder, if he banishes you from one house to the other; and set out to bring you back before you had reached it. Had he married the first woman in the kingdom, we should often have had such banishments and recals; but not the latter, till he had made her submit: yet has he some good qualities; for he is generous, nay, he is noble in his spirit; hates little mean actions; he delights in doing good. He is wise, prudent, sober, and magnanimous; and will not disguise his faults; but you must not expect to have him all to yourself, I doubt. No more, however, will I harp upon that string:340 you see how he was exasperated at an hint or two of that sort; though something of it was art, I believe. Don’t you think so?’

  ‘Indeed, madam, I believe not. When we retired, he gave 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 has very nice and delicate notions; but yet, as your ladyship says, exceeding generous.’

  ‘Well,’ said she, ‘I am glad thou hadst a little specimen of his anger; else I should have thought it art; and I do not love to be treated with low art, any more than he. But I understand, child,’ continued she, ‘that you keep a journal of all matters that pass; and that 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 counter-plottings, which he much praises, your resolute resistance, and the noble efforts you have made to preserve your virtue; and the steps by which his pride was subdued, till you were made what you now are: for it must be a rare, an uncommon story. I shall have great pleasure in reading it; and it will, probably, 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 C.; and had laboured it so much, that Lord C. approved of it, and so did the Duke of —, her uncle; and Lady Betty herself was not averse: and now I shall be railed to death about it; and this made me so outrageous as I was to you. When I find, by your papers, that your virtue is but suitably rewarded, I shall have an excuse to make for myself, to Lady Betty, and her friends: he will be better justified for what he has done; and I shall love you.’

  ‘There is nothing that I would not do,’ replied I, ‘to oblige your ladyship; but my father and mother (who would rather have seen me buried quick in the earth, than to have been seduced by the greatest of princes) have my papers in their hands at present; and your brother has bespoke 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 wicked views) – and that your ladyship will consider them as the genuine sentiments of my heart, delivered from time to time to those whose indulgence I was sure of; and for whose sight, only, they were written.’

  ‘Let me kiss you,’ said she, ‘for your chearful compliance. I make no doubt but my brother will consent I shall see them, because they must needs make for your honour; and I see he loves you better than he loves any one in the world.

  ‘I have heard,’ continued her ladyship, ‘a mighty good character of your parents, as industrious, honest, sensible folks; and, as I doubt not my brother’s generosity, I am glad they will make no ill figure, in the world’s eye, with a little of his assistance.’

  ‘There is not in the world, madam,’ said I, ‘an honester, a more affectionate, a more con
scientious couple. They once lived creditably; they brought up a great family, of which I am the youngest, and the only one left. Their misfortunes were owing to their doing beyond their abilities for two unhappy brothers, who are both dead, and whose debts they stood bound for; and, by harsh creditors, (I call them so, because the debts were not of their own contracting) turned out of all; and my father having, without success, set up a little country school, (for he understood a little of accompts, and writes a pretty good hand) he was forced to take to hard labour; but all the time they were honest, contented; never repining; and loving to each other. All their fear was, that their poverty should subject me, their poor daughter, to temptation; and they were continually warning me on this subject. 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 salute me again, and said, ‘There is such a sweet simplicity in thy story, as thou tellest it; such an honest art-lessness in thy mind, and such an amiable humility in thy deportment, that I believe I shall be forced to love thee, whether I will or not. The sight of your papers, I dare say, will crown the work.

  ‘Worden,’ said my lady to her woman, ‘you will take no notice of this conversation. I see you are much touched with it.’ ‘Indeed, madam, I am,’ answered she: ‘and it is a great pleasure to me to see so happy a reconciliation taking place, where there is so much merit.’

  ‘I have discovered,’ said I, ‘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, in the progress of my story, of blaming your dear brother, while he was blame-worthy, as well as of acknowledging his transcendent goodness to me since; which exceeds all I can ever deserve.’ ‘Perhaps not,’ replied my lady; ‘I hope you will be happy in each other. I will 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.’