Pamela - Samuel Richardson (read aloud txt) 📗

they came to the gate, that made the court-yard echo again; and smacking their whips in concert.

So I went up to my chamber, and saw (what made my heart throb) Mrs. Jewkes’s officious pains to put the room in order for a guest, that, however welcome, as now my duty teaches me to say, is yet dreadful to me to think of. So I took refuge in my closet, and had recourse to pen and ink, for my amusement, and to divert my anxiety of mind.—If one’s heart is so sad, and one’s apprehension so great, where one so extremely loves, and is so extremely obliged; what must be the case of those poor maidens, who are forced, for sordid views, by their tyrannical parents or guardians, to marry the man they almost hate, and, perhaps, to the loss of the man they most love! O that is a sad thing, indeed!—And what have not such cruel parents to answer for! And what do not such poor innocent victims suffer!—But, blessed be God, this lot is far from being mine!

My good master (for I cannot yet have the presumption to call him by a more tender name) came up to me, and said, Well, I just come to ask my dear bride (O the charming, charming word!) how she does? I see you are writing, my dear, said he. These confounded rakes are half mad, I think, and will make me so! However, said he, I have ordered my chariot to be got ready, as if I was under an engagement five miles off, and will set them out of the house, if possible; and then ride round, and come back, as soon as I can get rid of them. I find, said he, Lady Davers is full of our affairs. She has taken great freedoms with me before Sir Charles; and they have all been at me, without mercy; and I was forced to be very serious with them, or else they would have come up to have seen you, since I would not call you down.—He kissed me, and said, I shall quarrel with them, if I can’t get them away; for I have lost two or three precious hours with my soul’s delight: And so he went down.

Mrs. Jewkes asked me to walk down to dinner in the little parlour. I went down, and she was so complaisant as to offer to wait upon me at table; and would not be persuaded, without difficulty, to sit down with me. But I insisted she should: For, said I, it would be very extraordinary, if one should so soon go into such distance, Mrs. Jewkes. —Whatever my new station may require of me, added I, I hope I shall always conduct myself in such a manner, that pride and insolence shall bear no part in my character.

You are very good, madam, said she; but I will always know my duty to my master’s lady.—Why then, replied I, if I must take state upon me so early, Mrs. Jewkes, let me exact from you what you call your duty; and sit down with me when I desire you.

This prevailed upon her; and I made shift to get down a bit of apple-pye, and a little custard; but that was all.

My good master came in again, and said, Well, thank my stars! these rakes are going now; but I must set out with them, and I choose my chariot; for if I took horse, I should have difficulty to part with them; for they are like a snowball, and intend to gather company as they go, to make a merry tour of it for some days together.

We both got up, when he came in: Fie, Pamela! said he; why this ceremony now?—Sit still, Mrs. Jewkes.—Nay, sir, said she, I was loath to sit down; but my lady would have me.—She is very right, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, and tapped me on the cheek; for we are but yet half married; and so she is not above half your lady yet!—Don’t look so down, don’t be so silent, my dearest, said he; why, you hardly spoke twenty words to me all the time we were out together. Something I will allow for your bashful sweetness; but not too much.—Mrs. Jewkes, have you no pleasant tales to tell my Pamela, to make her smile, till I return?—Yes, sir, said she, I could tell twenty pleasant stories; but my lady is too nice to hear them; and yet, I hope, I should not be shocking neither. Ah! poor woman! thought I; thy chastest stories will make a modest person blush, if I know thee! and I desire to hear none of them.

My master said, Tell her one of the shortest you have, in my hearing. Why, sir, said she, I knew a bashful young lady, as madam may be, married to—Dear Mrs. Jewkes, interrupted I, no more of your story, I beseech you; I don’t like the beginning of it. Go on, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master. No, pray, sir, don’t require it, said I, pray don’t. Well, said he, then we’ll have it another time, Mrs. Jewkes.

Abraham coming in to tell him the gentlemen were going, and that his chariot was ready; I am glad of that, said he; and went to them, and set out with them.

I took a turn in the garden with Mrs. Jewkes, after they were gone: And having walked a while, I said, I should be glad of her company down the elm-walk, to meet the chariot: For, O! I know not how to look up at him, when he is with me; nor how to bear his absence, when I have reason to expect him: What a strange contradiction there is in this unaccountable passion.

What a different aspect every thing in and about this house bears now, to my thinking, to what it once had! The garden, the pond, the alcove, the elm-walk. But, oh! my prison is become my palace; and no wonder every thing wears another face!

We sat down upon the broad stile, leading towards the road; and Mrs. Jewkes was quite another person to me, to what she was the last time I sat there.

At last my best beloved returned, and alighted there. What, my Pamela! (and Mrs. Jewkes then left me,) What (said he, and kissed me) brings you this way? I hope to meet me.—Yes, sir, said I. That’s kind, indeed, said he; but why that averted eye?—that downcast countenance, as if you was afraid of me? You must not think so, sir, said I. Revive my heart then, said he, with a more cheerful aspect; and let that over-anxious solicitude, which appears in the most charming face in the world, be chased from it.—Have you, my dear girl any fears that I can dissipate; any doubts that I can obviate; any hopes that I can encourage; any request that I can gratify?—Speak, my dear Pamela; and if I have power, but speak, and to purchase one smile, it shall be done!

I cannot, sir, said I, have any fears, any doubts, but that I shall never be able to deserve all your goodness. I have no hopes, but that my future conduct may be agreeable to you, and my determined duty well accepted. Nor have I any request to make, but that you will forgive all my imperfections and, among the rest, this foolish weakness, that makes me seem to you, after all the generous things that have passed, to want this further condescension, and these kind assurances. But indeed, sir, I am oppressed by your bounty; my spirits sink under the weight of it; and the oppression is still the greater, as I see not how, possibly, in my whole future life, by all I can do, to merit the least of your favours.

I know your grateful heart, said he; but remember, my dear, what the lawyers tell us, That marriage is the highest consideration which the law knows. And this, my sweet bride, has made you mine, and me yours; and you have the best claim in the world to share my fortune with me. But, set that consideration aside, what is the obligation you have to me? Your mind is pure as that of an angel, and as much transcends mine. Your wit, and your judgment, to make you no compliment, are more than equal to mine: You have all the graces that education can give a woman, improved by a genius which makes those graces natural to you. You have a sweetness of temper, and a noble sincerity, beyond all comparison; and in the beauty of your person, you excel all the ladies I ever saw. Where then, my dearest, is the obligation, if not on my side to you?—But, to avoid these comparisons, let us talk of nothing henceforth but equality; although, if the riches of your mind, and your unblemished virtue, be set against my fortune, (which is but an accidental good, as I may call it, and all I have to boast of,) the condescension will be yours; and I shall not think I can possibly deserve you, till, after your sweet example, my future life shall become nearly as blameless as yours.

O, sir, said I, what comfort do you give me, that, instead of my being in danger of being ensnared by the high condition to which your goodness has exalted me, you make me hope, that I shall be confirmed and approved by you; and that we may have a prospect of perpetuating each other’s happiness, till time shall be no more!—But, sir, I will not, as you once cautioned me, be too serious. I will resolve, with these sweet encouragements, to be, in every thing, what you would have me be: And I hope I shall, more and more, shew you that I have no will but yours. He kissed me very tenderly, and thanked me for this kind assurance, as he called it.

And so we entered the house together.

 

Eight o’clock at night.

Now these sweet assurances, my dear father and mother, you will say, must be very consolatory to me; and being voluntary on his side, were all that could be wished for on mine; and I was resolved, if possible, to subdue my idle fears and apprehensions.

 

Ten o’clock at night.

As we sat at supper, he was generously kind to me, as well in his actions, as expressions. He took notice, in the most delicate manner, of my endeavour to conquer my foibles; and said, I see, with pleasure, my dear girl strives to comport herself in a manner suitable to my wishes: I see, even through the sweet tender struggles of your over-nice modesty, how much I owe to your intentions of obliging me. As I have once told you, that I am the conquest more of your virtue than your beauty; so not one alarming word or look shall my beloved Pamela hear or see, to give her reason to suspect the truth of what I aver. You may the rather believe me, continued he, as you may see the pain I have to behold any thing that concerns you, even though your concern be causeless. And yet I will indulge my dear girl’s bashful weakness so far, as to own, that so pure a mind may suffer from apprehension, on so important a change as this; and I can therefore be only displeased with such part of your conduct, as may make your sufferings greater than my own; when I am resolved, through every stage of my future life, in all events, to study to make them less.

After supper, of which, with all his sweet persuasions, I could hardly taste, he made me drink two glasses of champaign, and, afterwards, a glass of sack;