Pamela, Volume II

"O Sir, Sir," (and I should have sunk with joy, had not his kind arms supported me,) "what have you said?—Can I be so happy as to behold you innocent as to deed! God, of his infinite goodness, continue you both so!—And, Oh! that the dear lady would make me as truly love her, for the graces of her mind, as I admire her for the advantages of her person!"

"You are virtue itself, my dearest life; and from this moment I will reverence you as my tutelary angel. I shall behold you with awe, and implicitly give up myself to all your dictates: for what you say, and what you do, must be ever right. But I will not, my dearest life, too lavishly promise, lest you should think it the sudden effects of passions thus movingly touched, and which may subside again, when the soul, as you observed in your own case, sinks to its former level: but this I promise (and I hope you believe me, and will pardon the pain I have given you, which made me fear more than once, that your head was affected, so uncommon, yet so like yourself, has been the manner of your acting,) that I will break off a correspondence that has given you so much uneasiness: and my Pamela may believe, that if I can be as good as my word in this point, she will never more be in danger of any rival whatever.

"But say, my dear love," added he, "say you forgive me; and resume but your former cheerfulness, and affectionate regards to me, else I shall suspect the sincerity of your forgiveness: and you shall indeed go to Kent, but not without me, nor your boy neither; and if you insist upon it, the poor child you have wished so often and so generously to have, shall be given up absolutely to your disposal."

Do you think. Madam, I could speak any one distinct sentence? No indeed I could not. I was just choked with my joy; I never was so before. And my eyes were in a manner fixed, as he told me afterwards; and that he was a little startled, seeing nothing but the whites; for the sight was out of its orbits, in a manner lifted up to heaven—in ecstasy for a turn so sudden, and so unexpected!

We were forced to separate soon after; for there was no bearing each other, so excessive was my Joy, and his goodness. He left me, and went down to his own closet.

Judge my employment you will, I am sure, my dear lady. I had new ecstasy to be blest with, in a thankfulness so exalted, that it left me all light and pleasant, as if I had shook off body, and trod in air; so much heaviness had I lost, and so much joy had I received. From two such extremes, how was it possible I could presently hit the medium? For when I had given up my beloved husband, as lost to me, and had dreaded the consequences to his future state: to find him not only untainted as to deed, but, in all probability, mine upon better and surer terms than ever—O, Madam! must not this give a joy beyond all joy, and surpassing all expression!

About eight o'clock Mr. B. sent me up these lines from his closet, which will explain what I meant, as to the papers I must beg your ladyship to return me.

"My dear Pamela,

"I have so much real concern at the anguish I have given you, and am so much affected with the recollection of the uncommon scenes which passed between us, just now, that I write, because I know not how to look so excellent a creature in the face—You must therefore sup without me, and take your Mrs. Jervis to bed with you; who, I doubt not, knows all this affair; and you may tell her the happy event.

"You must not interfere with me just now, while writing upon a subject which takes up all my attention; and which, requiring great delicacy, I may, possibly, be all night before I can please myself in it.

"I am determined to make good my promise to you. But if you have written to your mother, Miss Darnford, or to Lady Davers, anything of this affair, you must shew me the copies, and let me into every tittle how you came by your information. I solemnly promise you, on my honour (that has not yet been violated to you, and I hope never will), that not a soul shall know or suffer by the communication, not even Turner; for I am confident he has had some hand in it. This request you must comply with, if you can confide in me; for I shall make some use of it (as prudent a one as I am able), for the sake of every one concerned, in the conclusion of the correspondence between the lady and myself. Whatever you may have said in the bitterness of your heart, in the letters I require to see, or whatever any of those, to whom they are directed, shall say, on the bad prospect, shall be forgiven, and looked upon as deserved, by your ever-obliged and faithful, &c."

I returned the following:

"Dearest, dear Sir,

"I will not break in upon you, while you are so importantly employed. Mrs. Jervis has indeed seen my concern for some time past, and has heard rumours, as I know by hints she has given me; but her prudence, and my reserves, have kept us from saying anything to one another of it. Neither my mother nor Miss Darnford know a tittle of it from me. I have received a letter of civility from Miss, and have answered it, taking and giving thanks for the pleasure of each other's company, and best respects from her, and the Lincolnshire families, to your dear self. These, my copy, and her original, you shall see when you please. But, in truth, all that has passed, is between Lady Davers and me, and I have not kept copies of mine; but I will dispatch a messenger to her ladyship for them, if you please, in the morning, before it is light, not doubting your kind promise of excusing everything and everybody.

"I beg, dear Sir, you will take care your health suffers not by your sitting up; for the nights are cold and damp.

"I will, now you have given me the liberty, let Mrs. Jervis know how happy you have made me, by dissipating my fears, and the idle rumours, as I shall call them to her, of calumniators.

"God bless you, dear Sir, for your goodness and favour to your ever-dutiful

P.B."

He was pleased to return me this:

"MY DEAR LIFE,

"You need not be in such haste to send. If you write to Lady Davers how the matter has ended, let me see the copy of it: and be very particular in your, or rather, my trial. It shall be a standing lesson to me for my future instruction; as it will be a fresh demonstration of your excellence, which every hour I more and more admire. I am glad Lady Davers only knows the matter. I think I ought to avoid seeing you, till I can assure you, that every thing is accommodated to your desire. Longman has sent me some advices, which will make it proper for me to meet him at Bedford or Gloucester. I will not go to Tunbridge, till I have all your papers; and so you'll have three days to procure them. Your boy, and your penmanship, will find you no disagreeable employment till I return. Nevertheless, on second thoughts, I will do myself the pleasure of breakfasting with you in the morning, to re-assure you of my unalterable purpose to approve myself, my dearest life, ever faithfully yours."

Thus, I hope, is happily ended this dreadful affair. My next shall give the particulars of our breakfast conversation. But I would not slip this post, without acquainting you with this blessed turn; and to beg the favour of you to send me back my letters; which will lay a new obligation upon, dear Madam, your obliged sister, and humble servant, P.B.

LETTER LXXV

MY DEAREST LADY,

Your joyful correspondent has obtained leave to get every thing: ready to quit London by Friday next, when your kind brother promises to carry me down to Kent, and allows me to take my charmer with me. There's happiness for you, Madam! To see, as I hope I shall see, upon one blessed spot, a dear faithful husband, a beloved child, and a father and mother, whom I so much love and honour!

Mr. B. told me this voluntarily, this morning at breakfast; and then, in the kindest manner, took leave of me, and set out for Bedfordshire.

But I should, according to my promise, give you a few particulars of our breakfast conference.

I bid Polly withdraw, when her master came up to breakfast; and I ran to the door to meet him, and threw myself on my knees: "O forgive me, dearest, dear Sir, all my boldness of yesterday!—My heart was strangely affected—or I could not have acted as I did. But never fear, my dearest Mr. B., that my future conduct shall be different from what it used to be, or that I shall keep up to a spirit, which you hardly thought had place in the heart of your dutiful Pamela, till she was thus severely tried."—"I have weighed well your conduct, my dear life," raising me to his bosom; "and I find an uniformity in it, that is surprisingly just."

He led me to the tea-table, and sat down close by me. Polly came in. "If every thing," said he, "be here, that your lady wants, you may withdraw; and let Colbrand and Abraham know I shall be with them presently. Nobody shall wait upon me but you, my dear." Polly withdrew.

"I always loved you, my dearest," added he, "and that with a passionate fondness, which has not, I dare say, many examples in the married life: but I revere you now. And so great is my reverence for your virtue, that I chose to sit up all night, to leave you for a few days, until, by disengaging myself from all intercourses that have given you uneasiness, I can convince you, that I have rendered myself as worthy as I can be, of you upon your own terms. I will account to you for every step I shall take, and will reveal to you every step I have taken: for this I can do, because the lady's honour is untainted, and wicked rumour has treated her worse than she could deserve."

I told him, that since he had named the lady, I would take the liberty to say, I was glad, for her own sake, to hear that. Changing the subject a little precipitately, as if it gave him pain, he told me, as above, that I might prepare on Friday for Kent; and I parted with him with greater pleasure than ever I did in my life. So necessary sometimes are afflictions, not only to teach one how to subdue one's passions, and to make us, in our happiest states, know we are still on earth, but even when they are overblown to augment and redouble our joys!

I am now giving orders for my journey, and quitting this undelightful town, as it has been, and is, to me. My next will be from Kent, I hope; and I may then have an opportunity to acquaint your ladyship with the particulars, and (if God answers my prayers), the conclusion of the affair, which has given me so much uneasiness.

Meantime, I am, with the greatest gratitude, for the kind share you have taken in my past afflictions, my good lady, your ladyship's most obliged sister and servant,

P.B.

LETTER LXXVI

My dearest Pamela,

Inclosed are all the letters you send for. I rejoice with you upon the turn this afflicting affair has taken, through your inimitable prudence, and a courage I thought not in you. A wretch!—to give you so much discomposure!—But I will not, if he be good now, rave against him, as I was going to do. I am impatient to hear what account he gives of the matter. I hope he will be able to abandon this—I won't call her names; for she loves the wretch; and that, if he be just to you, will be her punishment.

What care ought these young widows to take of their reputation?—And how watchful ought they to be over themselves!—She was hardly out of her weeds, and yet must go to a masquerade, and tempt her fate, with all her passions about her, with an independence, and an affluence of fortune, that made her able to think of nothing but gratifying them.

She has good qualities—is generous—is noble—but has strong passions, and is thoughtless and precipitant.

My lord came home last Tuesday, with a long story of my brother and her: for I had kept the matter as secret as I could, for his sake and yours. It seems he had it from Sir John–, uncle to the young Lord C., who is very earnest to bring on a treaty of marriage between her and his nephew, who is in love with her, and is a fine young gentleman; but has held back, on the liberties she has lately given herself with my brother.

I hope she is innocent, as to fact; but I know not what to say to it. He ought to be hanged, if he did not say she was. Yet I have great opinion of his veracity: and yet he is so bold a wretch!—And her inconsideration is so great!

But lest I should alarm your fears, I will wait till I have the account he gives you of this dark affair; till when, I congratulate you upon the leave you have obtained to quit the town, and on your setting out for a place so much nearer to Tunbridge. Forgive me, Pamela; but he is an intriguing wretch, and I would not have you to be too secure, lest the disappointment should be worse for you, than what you knew before: but assure yourself, that I am in all cases and events, your affectionate sister and admirer,

B. DAVERS.

LETTER LXXVII

From Mrs. B. to Lady Davers.

MY DEAREST LADY,

Mr. B. came back from Bedfordshire to his time. Every thing being in readiness, we set out with my baby, and his nurse. Mrs. Jervis, when every thing in London is settled by her direction, goes to Bedfordshire.

We were met by my father and mother in a chaise and pair, which your kind brother had presented to them unknown to me, that they might often take the air together, and go to church in it (which is at some distance) on Sundays. The driver is clothed in a good brown cloth suit, but no livery; for that my parents could not have borne, as Mr. B.'s goodness made him consider.

Your ladyship must needs think, how we were all overjoyed at this meeting: for my own part I cannot express how much I was transported when we arrived at the farm-house, to see all I delighted in, upon one happy spot together.

Mr. B. is much pleased with the alterations here: and it is a sweet, rural, and convenient place.

We were welcomed into these parts by the bells, and by the minister, and people of most note; and were at church together on Sunday.

Mr. B. is to set out on Tuesday for Tunbridge, with my papers. A happy issue, attend that affair, I pray God! He has given me the following particulars of it, to the time of my trial, beginning at the masquerade.

He says, that at the masquerade, when, pleased with the fair Nun's shape, air and voice, he had followed her to a corner most unobserved, she said in Italian, "Why are my retirements invaded, audacious Spaniard?"—"Because, my dear Nun, I hope you would have it so."

"I can no otherwise," returned she, "strike dead thy bold presumption, than to shew thee my scorn and anger thus!"—"And she unmasking surprised me," said Mr. B., "with a face as beautiful, but not so soft as my Pamela's."—"And I," said Mr. B., "to shew I can defy your resentment, will shew you a countenance as intrepid as yours is lovely." And so he drew aside his mask too.

He says, he observed his fair Nun to be followed wherever she went, by a mask habited like Testimony in Sir Courtly Nice, whose attention was fixed upon her and him; and he doubted not, that it was Mr. Turner. So he and the fair Nun took different ways, and he joined me and Miss Darnford, and found me engaged as I before related to your ladyship, and his Nun at his elbow unexpected.

That afterwards as he was engaged in French with a lady who had the dress of an Indian Princess, and the mask of an Ethiopian, his fair Nun said, in broken Spanish, "Art thou at all complexions?—By St. Ignatius, I believe thou'rt a rover!"

"I am trying," replied he in Italian, "whether I can meet with any lady comparable to my lovely Nun."

"And what is the result?"—"Not one: no not one."—"I wish you could not help being in earnest," said she; and slid from him.

He engaged her next at the sideboard, drinking under her veil a glass of Champaign. "You know, Pamela," said he, "there never was a sweeter mouth in the world than the Countess's except your own." She drew away the glass, as if unobserved by any body, to shew me the lower part of her face.

"I cannot say, but I was struck with her charming manner, and an unreservedness of air and behaviour, that I had not before seen so becoming. The place, and the freedom of conversation and deportment allowed there, gave her great advantages in my eye, although her habit required, as I thought, a little more gravity and circumspection: and I could not tell how to resist a secret pride and vanity, which is but too natural to both sexes, when they are taken notice of by persons so worthy of regard.

"Naturally fond of every thing that carried the face of an intrigue, I longed to know who this charming Nun was. And next time I engaged her, 'My good sister,' said I, 'how happy should I be, if I might be admitted to a conversation with you at your grate!'

"'Answer me,' said she, 'thou bold Spaniard,' (for that was a name she seemed fond of, which gave me to imagine, that boldness was a qualification she was not displeased with. 'Tis not unusual with our vain sex," observed he, "to construe even reproaches to our advantage,") 'is the lady here, whose shackles thou wearest?'—'Do I look like a man shackled, my fairest Nun?'—'No—no! not much like such an one. But I fancy thy wife is either a Widow or a Quaker.'—'Neither,' replied I, taking, by equivocation, her question literally.

"'And art thou not a married wretch? Answer me quickly!—We are observed.'—'No,' said I.—'Swear to me, thou art not.'—'By St. Ignatius, then;' for, my dear, I was no wretch, you know.—'Enough!' said she, and slid away; and the Fanatic would fain have engaged her, but she avoided him as industriously.

"Before I was aware, she was at my elbow, and, in Italian, said, 'That fair Quaker, yonder, is the wit of the assemblée; her eyes seem always directed to thy motions; and her person shews some intimacies have passed with somebody; is it with thee?'—'It would be my glory if it was,' said I, 'were her face answerable to her person.'—'Is it not?'—'I long to know,'" replied Mr. B.—"I am glad thou dost not."—"I am glad to hear my fair Nun say that."—"Dost thou," said she, "hate shackles? Or is it, that thy hour is not yet come?"

"I wish," replied he, "this be not the hour, the very hour!" pretending (naughty gentleman!—What ways these men have!) to sigh.

She went again to the side-board, and put her handkerchief upon it. Mr. B. followed, and observed all her motions. She drank a glass of lemonade, as he of Burgundy; and a person in a domino, supposed to be the King, passing by, took up every one's attention but Mr. B.'s who eyed her handkerchief, not doubting but she laid it there on purpose to forget to take it up. Accordingly she left it there; and slipping by him, he, unobserved, as he believes, put it in his pocket, and at the corner found the cover of a letter—"To the Right Honourable the Countess Dowager of –"

That after this, the fair Nun was so shy, so reserved, and seemed so studiously to avoid him, that he had no opportunity to return her handkerchief; and the Fanatic observing how she shunned him, said, in French, "What, Monsieur, have you done to your Nun?"

"I found her to be a very coquette; and told her so; and she is offended."

"How could you affront a lady," replied he, "with such a charming face?

"By that I had reason to think," said Mr. B., "that he had seen her unmask; and I said, 'It becomes not any character, but that you wear, to pry into the secrets of others, in order to make ill-natured remarks, and perhaps to take ungentlemanlike advantages.'"

"No man should make that observation," returned he, "whose views would bear prying into."

"I was nettled," said Mr. B., "at this warm retort, and drew aside my mask: 'Nor would any man, who wore not a mask, tell me so!'

"He took not the challenge, and slid from me, and I saw him no more that night."

"So!" thought I, "another instance this might have been of the glorious consequences of masquerading." O my lady, these masquerades are abominable things!

The King, they said, met with a free speaker that night: in truth, I was not very sorry for it; for if monarchs will lay aside their sovereign distinctions, and mingle thus in masquerade with the worst as well as the highest (I cannot say best) of their subjects, let 'em take the consequence. Perhaps they might have a chance to hear more truth here than in their palaces—the only good that possibly can accrue from them—that is to say, if they made a good use of it when they heard it. For you see, my monarch, though he told the truth, as it happened, received the hint with more resentment than thankfulness!—So, 'tis too likely did the monarch of us both.

And now, my lady, you need not doubt, that so polite a gentleman would find an opportunity to return the Nun her handkerchief!—To be sure he would: for what man of honour would rob a lady of any part of her apparel? And should he, that wanted to steal a heart content himself with a handkerchief?—No no, that was not to be expected. So, what does he do, but resolve, the very next day, after dinner, to pursue this affair: accordingly, the poor Quaker little thinking of the matter, away goes her naughty Spaniard, to find out his Nun at her grate, or in her parlour rather.

He asks for the Countess. Is admitted into the outward parlour—her woman comes down; requires his name and business. His name he mentioned not. His business was, to restore into her lady's own hands, something she had dropt the night before.—Was desired to wait.

I should have said, that he was dressed very richly—having no design at all to make conquests; no, not he!—O this wicked love of intrigue!—A kind of olive-coloured velvet, and fine brocaded waistcoat. I said, when he took leave of me, "You're a charming Mr. B.," and saluted him, more pressingly than he returned it; but little did I think, when I plaited so smooth his rich laced ruffles, and bosom, where he was going, or what he had in his plotting heart. He went in his own chariot, that he did: so that he had no design to conceal who he was—But intrigue, a new conquest, vanity, pride!—O these men!—They had need talk of ladies!—But it is half our own fault, indeed it is, to encourage their vanity.

Well, Madam, he waited till his stateliness was moved to send up again, that he would wait on her ladyship some other time. So down she came, dressed most richly, jewels in her breast, and in her hair, and ears—But with a very reserved and stately air. He approached her—Methinks I see him, dear saucy gentleman. You know, Madam, what a noble manner of address he has.

He took the handkerchief from his bosom with an air; and kissing it, presented it to her, saying, "This happy estray, thus restored, begs leave, by me, to acknowledge its lovely owner!"

"What mean you, Sir?—Who are you, Sir?—What mean you?"

"Your ladyship will excuse me: but I am incapable of meaning any thing but what is honourable."—(No, to be sure)—"This, Madam, you left last night, when the domino took up every one's attention but mine, which was much better engaged; and I take the liberty to restore it to you."

She turned to the mark; a coronet at one corner, "'Tis true, Sir, I see now it is one of mine: but such a trifle was not worthy of being brought by such a gentleman as you seem to be; nor of my trouble to receive it in person. Your servant, Sir, might have delivered the bagatelle to mine."—"Nothing should be called so that belongs to the Countess of –"—"She was no Countess, Sir, that dropt that handkerchief, and a gentleman would not attempt to penetrate, unbecomingly, through the disguises a lady thinks proper to assume; especially at such a place where every enquiry should begin and end."

This, Madam, from a lady, who had unmasked—because she would not be known!—Very pretty, indeed!—Oh! these slight cobweb airs of modesty! so easily seen through. Hence such advantages against us are taken by the men. She had looked out of her window, and seen no arms quartered with his own; for you know, my lady, I would never permit any to be procured for me: so, she doubted not, it seems, but he was an unmarried gentleman, as he had intimated to her the night before. He told her it was impossible, after having seen the finest lady in the world, not to wish to see her again; and that he hoped he did not, unbecomingly, break through her ladyship's reserves: nor had he made any enquiries, either on the spot, or off it; having had a much better direction by accident.