‘I had a slight cold,’ said Miss Towers, ‘that kept me at home in the morning; but I heard you so much talked of, that I resolved not to stay away in the afternoon: and I join in the joy every one wishes you.’ She turned to my master, and said, ‘I always thought you a sly thief: where have you stolen this lady? How barbarous is it to bring her out upon us at once, to eclipse us all!’ ‘A lady,’ replied Mr B., ‘who can express herself with so much generosity as Miss Towers does, on this occasion, shews a greatness of mind that cannot be eclipsed.’
‘I own,’ said she, softly, ‘I was one of your censurers; but I never liked you so well in my life, as now that I see how capable your bride is of doing credit to her condition.’ And coming to me, ‘My dear neighbour,’ said she, ‘excuse me for a certain flippancy that I was once guilty of. Will it make an atonement, to say, that I see you now with Mr B.’s eyes?’
‘How shall I suitably return my acknowledgements?’ said I. ‘Nothing, madam, can be wanting to complete my happiness, but the example and instruction of so many worthy ladies, as adorn this neighbourhood. Give me, in particular, madam, your countenance; that will enable me to sustain the honours to which the most generous of men has raised me.’
‘If I was in another place,’ said she, ‘I would kiss you for that answer. Happy, happy Mr B.,’ turning to my master; ‘what reputation have you given to your judgment! I won‘t be long before I see you,’ added she, ‘I assure you, if I come by myself.’ ‘It shall be your own fault, Miss Towers,’ said Mrs Brooks, ‘if you do.’
They passed on to their coaches. I gave my hand to my dear master. ‘Accept of it, dear sir,’ whispered I; ‘my heart is with it. How happy have you made me!’ The Dean, passing us, whispered Mr B., that he congratulated him on his happiness. ‘Every mouth,’ said he, ‘is full of it.’ Mr B. said, he should think himself honoured by a visit from him. ‘My wife and daughters,’ said he, ‘are at my brother’s at Bedford: when they return, we will attend your bride together’; bowing to me. I curtsied, and said, that would be doing me honour; and then I thanked him for his fine discourse; as he did me for my attention, which he called exemplary.
My dear master then handed me into the chariot; and we were carried home, both happy, thank God!
Mr Martin came in the evening, with another gentleman, his friend, one Mr Dormer; and he entertained us with the favourable opinion, he said, every one had of me, and of the choice my good Mr B. had made.
This morning the poor came, to the number of twenty-five; and I sent them away with glad hearts.
TUESDAY
My generous master has given me, this morning, a most considerate, but yet, from the nature of it, melancholy instance of his great regard for me, which I never could have wished, hoped for, or even thought of.
He took a walk with me, after breakfast, into the garden, and a little shower falling, he led me for shelter into the summer-house, in the private garden, where he formerly gave me apprehensions; and, sitting down by me, he said, ‘I have now finished all that lies on my mind, my dear, and am easy: for have you not wondered, that I have so much employed myself in my library? been so much at home, and yet not in your company?’ ‘I have never, sir,’ replied I, ‘been so impertinent. And, besides, I Know that the method you take of looking into your own affairs, engages so much of your time, that I ought to be very careful how I intrude.’
‘You are very considerate, my dear: but I‘ll tell you what has been my last work: I took it into consideration, that, at present, my family is almost extinct; and that the chief part of my maternal estate, in case I die without issue, will go to another family. And that I ought not to leave my Pamela at the mercy of those to whom my paternal estate, on the like contingency, will devolve. I have, therefore, as human life is uncertain, made such a disposition of my affairs, as will render you absolutely independent; as will secure to you the means of doing a great deal of good, and living as my relict ought to do; and, at the same time, put it out of any body’s power to molest your father and mother, in the provision I design them for the remainder of their days: and I have finished all, this very morning, except to naming trustees for you; and if you have any persons in whom you would more particularly confide on this occasion, I would have you name them.’
I was so touched with this mournful instance of his excessive goodness to me, and the thoughts necessarily flowing from what he had said, that I was unable to speak; and, at last, relieving my mind by a violent fit of weeping, could only say, clasping my arms around him, ‘How shall I support this! So very cruel, yet so kind!’
‘Let not that, my dearest life,’ said he, ‘give you pain, that gives me pleasure. I am not the nearer my end, for having made this disposition; but I think, the putting off these material articles, when life is so precarious, is one of the most inexcusable things a prudent man can be guilty of. My poor friend, Mr Carlton, who so lately died in my arms, convinced me of this truth, that temporal concerns should not be left to the last debilitating hour, when the important moments ought to be filled up with other and greater considerations: he, poor man! had to struggle with, at once, a disordered state of worldly affairs; a weakness of body, and concerns of still as much more moment, as the soul is to the body. I had the happiness to relieve his anxiety as to the first: but the difficulties he had to contend with, and the sense he had of his incapacity to contend with them; the horror, the confusion he was sometimes in, as life was drawing to its utmost verge; so many things left undone, and to others to do for him; that altogether made so great an impression upon my mind, that I was the more impatient to come to this house, where were most of my writings, in order to make the disposition I have now perfected: and, since it is grievous to my dear girl, I will myself think of proper trustees for her. I have only, therefore, to re-assure you, my dear, that, in this instance, I have contrived to make you quite easy, free, and independent.’
I could not speak. He proceeded, ‘As, my dear creature, I am determined henceforth to avoid every subject that may discompose you, I will mention now one request, the only one I have to make to you. It is this; that if it please God, for my sins, to separate me from my Pamela, you will only resolve not to marry one person; for I would not be such a Herod,366 as to restrain you from a change of condition with any other, however reluctantly I may think of any other person’s succeeding me in your esteem.’
I thought my heart would have burst: but was unable to answer one word. ‘To conclude at once,’ proceeded he, ‘a subject that is so grievous to you, I will tell you, that this person is Mr Williams. And now I will acquaint you with my motive for this request; which is wholly owing to my niceness for you, and to no dislike I have to him, or apprehension of any likelihood, that it will be so: but, methinks, it would reflect a little upon my Pamela, if she were to take such a step, as if she had married one man for his estate, when, but for that, she would rather have had another. Forgive me, my Pamela,’ added he; ‘but I cannot bear even the most distant apprehension, that I had not the preference with you to any man living: as I have shewn you, that I have preferred you to all your sex, of whatever degree.’
I was still silent. Might I have had the world, I could not speak. He took me in his arms. ‘I have now,’ said he, ‘spoken all my mind, and expect no answer; and I see you too much moved to give me one. Only say, you forgive me. And I hope I have not one disagreeable thing to say to my angel, for the rest of my life.’
Grief still choaked up the passage of my words. ‘The shower,’ said he, ‘is over’; and he led me out. Recovering myself a little, I would have spoken on the melancholy subject; but he said, ‘I will not hear my dear creature say any thing in answer to my request: to hearken to your assurance of complying with it, would look as if I wanted it. I shall never more think on the subject.’ He then changed the discourse.
‘Don’t you with pleasure, my dear,’ said he, ‘take in the delightful fragrance, that this sweet shower has given to these banks of flowers? Your company is so enl
ivening to me, that I could almost fancy, that what we owe to the shower is owing to your presence. All nature, methinks, blooms around me, when I have my Pamela by my side. I will give you a few lines, that I made myself on such an occasion as this I am speaking of, the presence of a sweet companion, and the fresh verdure, that, after a shower succeeding a long drought, shewed itself throughout all vegetable nature.’ And then, in a sweet and easy accent, with his arms about me as we walked, he sung me the following verses; of which he afterwards favoured me with a copy:
I
All nature blooms when you appear;
The fields their richest liv’ries wear;
Oaks, elms, and pines, blest with your view,
Shoot out fresh greens, and bud anew;
The varying seasons you supply;
And when you’re gone, they fade and die.
II
Sweet Philomel,367 in mournful strains,
To you appeals, to you complains.
The tow’ring lark, on rising wing,
Your praise, delighted, seems to sing;
Presaging, as aloft he flies,
Your future progress through the skies.
III
The purple violet, damask rose,
Each, to delight your senses, blows.
The lilies ope’, as you appear;
And all the beauties of the year
Diffuse their odours at your feet,
Who give to ev’ry flow’r its sweet.
IV
For flow’rs and women are allied;
Both Nature’s glory, and her pride!
Of ev’ry fragrant sweet possest,
They bloom but for the fair-one’s breast;
And to the swelling bosom borne,
Each other mutually adorn.368
Thus sweetly did he palliate the grief, which the generosity of his actions, mixed with the seriousness of the occasion, and the strange request he had vouchsafed to make me, had occasioned. And all he would permit me to say, was, that I was not displeased with him! ‘Displeased with you, dearest sir!’ said I: ‘let me thus testify my obligations, and the force all your commands shall have upon me.’ And I clasped my arms about his neck, and kissed him.
But yet my mind was pained at times, and has been to this hour. God grant that I may never see the dreadful moment, that shall shut up the precious life of this most generous of husbands! And – but I cannot bear to suppose – I cannot say more on a subject so deeply affecting.
Oh! what a poor thing is human life in its best enjoyments! Subjected to imaginary evils, when it has no real ones to disturb it; and that can be made as effectually unhappy by our apprehensions of even remote contingencies as if we were struggling with the pangs of a present distress! This, duly reflected upon, methinks, should convince every one, that this world is not a place for the immortal mind to be confined to; and that there must be an hereafter, in which the whole soul shall be satisfied.
But I shall get out of my depth: my shallow mind cannot comprehend, as it ought, these weighty subjects: let me, therefore, only pray, that after having made a grateful use of God’s mercies here, I may, with my dear benefactor, rejoice in that happy state, where is no mixture, no unsatisfiedness; and where all is joy, and peace, and love, for evermore.
I said, when we sat at supper, ‘The charming taste you gave me, sir, of your genius, makes me sure you have more favours of this kind, to delight me with, if you please: may I beg to be indulged on this agreeable subject?’ ‘Hitherto,’ said he, ‘my life has been too much a life of gaiety and action, to be busied so innocently. Some little essays I have now-and-then made; but very few have I finished. Indeed I had not patience, nor attention enough, to hold me long to any one subject. Now-and-then, perhaps, I shall occasionally shew you what I have essayed: but I never could please myself in this way.
‘You, my dear love, are a pretty rhimester; I will not flatter you by calling you a poetess: yet I admire that beautiful simplicity which in all you do, all you write, all you speak, makes so distinguishing a part of your character. Did I not see on your toilette yesterday a few lines begun in praise of humility?’
‘You did not tell me before, that you saw them, sir. Supposing myself reproached by the daughter of an earl with my low birth, I was placing my whole merit in humility. I have written but that one stanza as I may call it, which I find you saw.’ ‘Finish it, my dear,’ said he, ‘and let me see it.’
I obeyed him. He was so good as to praise me for the simple verses. These are they:
Some boast their riches; some their birth;
Their beauty some; some their degree;
Yet all must turn to common earth:
Should not this teach HUMILITY?
‘Say, cottage-born, what mean’st thou, girl?
Wouldst thou pretend to vie with me?’
‘O no! – Your sire’s a noble earl:
My only pride’s HUMILITY.
‘But while you boast of what you are,
And scorn so much the low degree;
You‘d be as rich, as great, as fair,
Could you but boast HUMILITY.
‘If wealth, and birth, and beauty, give
But pride and insolence to thee,
O keep them all; and, while I live,
Make all my pride HUMILITY.’369
FRIDAY
We were yesterday favoured with the company of almost all the neighbouring gentry, and their ladies, who, by appointment with one another, met to make us a congratulatory visit. The ladies were extremely obliging, free, and even affectionate to me; the gentlemen exceedingly polite. All was performed (for they were prevailed upon to pass the evening) with decency and order, and much to every one’s satisfaction; which was principally owing to the care and skill of good Mrs Jervis, who is an excellent manager.
For my part, I was dressed out only to be admired, as it seems. And, if I had not known, that I did not make myself, as you, my dear father, once hinted to me; and if I had had the vanity to think as well of myself, as the good company was pleased to do, I might possibly have been proud. But I know, as my lady Davers said, though in anger, yet in truth, that I am but a poor bit of painted dirt. What I value myself upon, is, that God has raised me to a condition to be useful to better persons than myself. This is my pride: and I hope this will be all my pride. For, what was I of myself? All the good I can do, is but a poor third-hand good! for my dearest master himself is but the second-hand. GOD, the All-gracious, the All-good, the All-bountiful, the All-mighty, the All-merciful GOD, is the first: to HIM, therefore, be all the glory!
As I expect the happiness, the unspeakable happiness, my ever-dear, and ever-honoured father and mother, of enjoying the company of you both, under this roof, so soon, (and pray let it be as soon as you can) I will not enter into the particulars of the last agreeable evening. I shall have a thousand things, as well as that, to talk to you upon. I fear you will be tired with my prattle, when I see you!
I am to return these visits singly; and there were eight ladies here, of different families. I shall find enough to do! I doubt my time will not be so well filled up, as I once promised my best friend it should. But he is pleased, cheerful, kind, affectionate! What a happy creature am I! May I be always thankful to GOD, and grateful to him!
When all these tumultuous visitings are over, I shall have my mind, I hope, subside into a family calm, that I may make myself a little useful to the household of my Mr B.; or else I shall be an unprofitable servant indeed!
Lady Davers sent this morning a billet with her compliments to us both; and her lord’s good wishes and congratulations. She desired I would send my papers by the messenger; letting me know, that she will herself bring them to me again, with thanks, as soon as she has read them; and she and her lord will come and be my guests (that was her particularly kind word) for a fortnight.
Methinks I want your list of the honest and worthy poor; for the money lies by me, and brings me no interest. You see I am become a m
ere usurer; indeed I want to make use upon use of it: and yet, when I have done all, I cannot do so much as I ought.
I tell my dear Mr B. that I long for another dairy-house visit. If he will not, at present, indulge me, I shall, when the sweet girl is a little older, teaze him like any over-indulged wife, to permit me the pleasure of forming her tender mind, as well as I am able. I am providing many pretty presents for her against I see her next.
Just now I have the blessed news, that you will set out, for this happy house, on Tuesday morning. The chariot shall be with you without fail. God give us a happy meeting!370 How I long for it! Forgive your impatient daughter, who sends this to amuse you on your journey; and is, and will be,
Ever most dutifully yours.
NOTES
ENTRIES which indicate revisions in the 1801 edition of Pamela (cited as 1801) are based on my own collation of that text with the editions of 1740, 1742 and 1761; only major additions, alterations, and a few of the numerous deletions could, however, be considered here. Other notes are indebted to several sources, including C. Willett and Phillis Cunnington, Handbook of English Costume in the Eighteenth Century (Faber, 1957), cited as Cunnington; T. C. Duncan Eaves and Ben D. Kimpel, ‘Richardson’s Revisions of Pamela’ (Studies in Bibliography, 20, 1967, 61–88); Johnson’s England, ed. A. S. Turberville (Clarendon Press, 1933); Samuel Johnson, A Dictionary of the English Language (1755); M. P. Tilley, A Dictionary of the Proverbs in England in the Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries (University of Michigan Press, 1950): and the Oxford English Dictionary (OED). I have also drawn on Eaves and Kimpel’s edition of Pamela (Houghton Mifflin, 1971); and on Jocelyn Harris’s edition of Sir Charles Grandison (Oxford University Press, 1972).