Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
oppressed by your favours, and the sense of the obligations I lie
under, that I cannot look up with the confidence that I otherwise
should, on this awful occasion.
There is, my dear Pamela, said he, where the power is wanting, 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 recompense you for what I
have made you suffer. You have had too many hard struggles and
exercises; and have nobly overcome: and who shall grudge you the reward
of the hard-bought victory?—This affair is so much the act of my own
will, that I glory in being capable of distinguishing so much
excellence; and my fortune is the more pleasurable to me, as it gives
me hope, that I may make you some part of satisfaction for what you
have undergone.
This, sir, said I, is all goodness, unmerited on my side; and makes my
obligations the greater. I can only wish for more worthiness.—But how
poor is it to offer nothing but words for such generous deeds!—And to
say, I wish!—For what is a wish, but the acknowledged want of power to
oblige, and a demonstration of one’s poverty in every thing but will?
And that, my dear girl, said he, is every thing: ’Tis all I want: ’Tis
all that Heaven itself requires of us: But no more of these little
doubts, though they are the natural impulses of a generous and grateful
heart: I want not to be employed in settlements. Those are for such to
regard, who make convenience and fortune the prime considerations. I
have possessions ample enough for us both; and you deserve to share
them with me; and you shall do it, with as little reserve, as if you
had brought me what the world reckons an equivalent: for, as to my own
opinion, you bring me what is infinitely more valuable, an experienced
truth, a well-tried virtue, and a wit and behaviour more than equal to
the station you will be placed in: To say nothing of this sweet person,
that itself might captivate a monarch; and of the meekness of temper,
and sweetness of disposition, which make you superior to all the women
I ever saw.
Thus kind and soothing, and honourably affectionate, was the dear
gentleman, to the unworthy, doubting, yet assured Pamela; and thus
patiently did he indulge, and generously pardon, my impertinent
weakness. He offered to go himself to Lady Jones, in the morning, and
reveal the matter to her, and desire her secrecy and presence; but I
said, That would disoblige the young Ladies Darnford. No, sir, said I,
I will cast myself upon your generous kindness; for why should I fear
the kind protector of my weakness, 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, said I, I can. She is very civil
to me now: and her former wickedness I will forgive, for the sake of
the happy fruits that have attended it; and because you mention her.
Well, said he, I will call her in, if you please.—As you please, sir,
said I. 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. Why, said he, we intend to-morrow,
privately as possible, for our wedding-day; and Mr. Peters and Mr.
Williams are to be here, as to breakfast with me, and to shew Mr.
Peters my little chapel. As soon as the ceremony is over, we will take
a little airing in the chariot, as we have done at other times; and so
it will not be wondered that we are dressed. And the two parsons have
promised secrecy, and will go home. I believe you can’t well avoid
letting one of the maids into the secret; but that I’ll leave to you.
Sir, replied she, we all concluded it would be in a few days! and I
doubt it won’t be long a secret. No, said he, I don’t desire it should;
but you know we are not provided for a public wedding, and I shall
declare it when we go to Bedfordshire, which won’t be long. But the
men, who lie in the outhouses, need not know it; for, by some means or
other, my sister Davers knows 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 you were angry at.
I hope, said he, we shall be set out for t’other house first; and shall
be pleased she loses her labour. Sir, continued she, her ladyship,
proposes to be here time enough to hinder your nuptials, which she
takes, as we did, will be the latter end of next week. Well, said he,
let her come: but yet I desire not to see her.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Give me leave, madam, 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 all forward: and shall not
presume, so much as by a whisper, to set my good master against any one
he pleases to approve of: And as to his old servants, I shall always
value them, and never offer to dictate to his choice, or influence it
by my own caprices.
Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, you find you have no cause to apprehend
any thing. My Pamela is very placable; and as we have both been sinners
together, we must both be 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 my little resentments, if I had any, for the sake of so
much goodness to myself.
You are very kind, madam, said she; and you may depend upon it, I will
atone for all my faults, 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, she chooses you to attend
her in the morning at the ceremony, and you must keep up her spirits.—I
shall, replied she, be very proud of the honour: But I cannot, madam,
but wonder to see you so very low-spirited, as you have been these two
or three days past, with so much happiness before you.
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I, there can be but one reason given; and
that is, that I am a sad fool!—But, indeed, I am not ungrateful
neither; nor would I put on a foolish affectation: But my heart, at
times, sinks within me; I know not why, except at my own unworthiness,
and because the honour done me is too high for me to support myself
under, as I should do. It is an honour, Mrs. Jewkes, added I, I was not
born to; and no wonder, then, I behave so awkwardly. She made me a fine
compliment upon it, and withdrew, repeating her promises of care,
secrecy, etc.
He parted from me with very great tenderness; and I came up and set to
writing, to amuse my thoughts, and wrote thus far. And Mrs. Jewkes
being come up, and it being past twelve, I will go to bed; but not one
wink, I fear, shall I get this night.—I could beat myself for anger.
Sure there is nothing ominous in this strange folly!—But I suppose all
young maidens are the same, so near so great a change of condition,
though they carry it off more discreetly than I.
Thursday, six o’clock in the morning.
I might as well have not gone to bed last night, for what sleep I had.
Mrs. Jewkes often was talking to me, and said several things that would
have been well enough from any body else of our sex; but the poor woman
has so little purity of heart, that it is all say from her, and goes no
farther than the ear.
I fancy my master has not slept much neither; for I heard him up, and
walking about his chamber, ever since break of day. To be sure, good
gentleman! he must have some concern, as well as I; for here he is
going to marry a poor foolish unworthy girl, brought up on the charity,
as one may say, (at least bounty,) of his worthy family! And this
foolish girl must be, to all intents and purposes, after twelve o’clock
this day, as much his wife, as if he were to marry a duchess!—And here
he must stand the shocks of common reflection! The great Mr. B—— has
done finely! he has married his poor servant wench! will some say. The
ridicule and rude jests of his equals, and companions too, he must
stand: And the disdain of his relations, and indignation of Lady
Davers, his lofty sister! Dear good gentleman! he will have enough to
do, to be sure! O how shall I merit all these things at his hand! I can
only do the best I can; and pray to God to reward him; and resolve to
love him with a pure heart, and serve him with a sincere obedience. I
hope the dear gentleman will continue to love me for this; for, alas! I
have nothing else to offer! But, as I can hardly expect so great a
blessing, if I can be secure from his contempt, I shall not be
unfortunate; and must bear his indifference, if his rich friends should
inspire him with it, and proceed with doing my duty with cheerfulness.
Half an hour past eight o’clock.
My good dear master, my kind friend, my generous benefactor, my worthy
protector, and, oh! all the good words in one, my affectionate husband,
that is soon to be—(be curbed in, my proud heart, know thy self, and be
conscious of thy unworthiness!)—has just left me, with the kindest,
tenderest expressions, and gentlest behaviour, that ever blest a happy
maiden. He approached me with a sort of reined-in rapture. My Pamela!
said he, May I just ask after your employment? Don’t let me chide my
dear girl this day, however. The two parsons will be here to breakfast
with us at nine; and yet you are not a bit dressed! Why this absence of
mind, and sweet irresolution?
Why, indeed, sir, said I, I will set about a reformation this instant.
He saw the common-prayer book lying in the window. I hope, said he, my
lovely maiden has been conning the lesson she is by-and-by to repeat.
Have you not, Pamela? and clasped his arms about me, and kissed me.
Indeed, sir, said I, I have been reading over the solemn service.—And
what thinks my fairest (for so he called me) of it?—O sir, ’tis very
awful, and makes one shudder, to reflect upon it!—No wonder, said he,
it should affect my sweet Pamela: I have been looking into it this
morning, and I can’t say but I think it a solemn, but very suitable
service. But this I tell my dear love, continued he, and again clasped
me to him, there is not a tittle in it that I cannot joyfully subscribe
to: And that, my dear Pamela, should make you easy, and join cheerfully
in it with me. I kissed his dear hand: O my generous, kind protector,
said I, how gracious is it to confirm thus the doubting mind of your
poor servant! which apprehends nothing so much as her own unworthiness
of the honour and blessing that await her!—He was pleased to say, I
know well, my dearest creature, that, according to the liberties we
people of fortune generally give ourselves, I have promised a great
deal, when I say so. But I would not have said it, if, deliberately, I
could not with all my heart. So banish from your mind all doubt and
uneasiness; let a generous confidence in me take place; and let me see
it does, by your cheerfulness in this day’s solemn business; and then I
will love you for ever!
May God Almighty, sir, said I, reward all your goodness to me!—That is
all I can say. But, oh! how kind it is in you, to supply the want of
the presence and comfortings of a dear mother, of a loving sister, or
of the kind companions of my own sex, which most maidens have, to
soothe their anxieties on the so near approach of so awful a
solemnity!—You, sir, are all these tender relations in one to me! Your
condescensions and kindness shall, if possible, embolden me to look up
to you without that sweet terror, that must confound poor bashful
maidens, on such an occasion, when they are surrendered up to a more
doubtful happiness, and to half-strange men, whose good faith, and good