Pamela, Volume II
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"You have a charming boy, I am told, Madam; but no wonder from such a pair!"
"O dear heart," thought I, "i'n't it so!" Your ladyship may guess what I thought farther.
"Will your ladyship see him now?" said Mr. B.
He did not look down; no, not one bit!—though the Countess played with her fan, and looked at him, and at me, and then down by turns, a little consciously: while I wrapped up myself in my innocence, my first flutters being over, and thought I was superior, by reason of that, even to a Countess.
With all her heart, she said.
I rang. "Polly, bid nurse bring my Billy down."—My, said I, with an emphasis.
I met the nurse at the stairs' foot, and brought in my dear baby in my arms: "Such a child, and such a mamma!" said the Viscountess.
"Will you give Master to my arms, one moment, Madam?" said the Countess.
"Yes," thought I, "much rather than my dear naughty gentleman should any other."
I yielded, it to her: I thought she would have stifled it with her warm kisses. "Sweet boy I charming creature," and pressed it to her too lovely bosom, with such emotion, looking on the child, and on Mr. B., that I liked it not by any means.
"Go, you naughty lady," thought I: But I durst not say so. "And go, naughty man, too!" thought I: "for you seem to look too much gratified in your pride, by her fondness for your boy. I wish I did not love you so well as I do!" But neither, your ladyship may believe, did I say this.
Mr. B. looked at me, but with a bravery, I thought, too like what I had been witness to, in some former scenes, in as bad a cause. "But," thought I, "God delivered me then; I will confide in him. He will now, I doubt not, restore thy heart to my prayers; untainted, I hope, for thy own dear sake as well as mine."
The Viscountess took the child from her sister, and kissed him with great pleasure. She is a married lady. Would to God, the Countess was so too! for Mr. B. never corresponded, as I told your ladyship once, with married ladies: so I was not afraid of her love to my Billy. "But let me," said she, "have the pleasure of restoring Master to his charming mamma. I thought," added she, "I never saw a lovelier sight in my life, than when in his mamma's arms."
"Why, I can't say," said the Countess, "but Master and his mamma do credit to one another. Dear Madam, let us have the pleasure of seeing him still on your lap, while he is so good."
I wondered the dear baby was so quiet; though, indeed, he is generally so: but he might surely, if but by sympathy, have complained for his poor mamma, though she durst not for herself.
How apt one is to engage every thing in one's distress, when it is deep! and one wonders too, that things animate and inanimate look with the same face, when we are greatly moved by any extraordinary and interesting event.
I sat down with my baby on my lap, looking, I believe, with a righteous boldness (I will call it so; for well says the text, "The righteous is as bold as a lion,") now on my Billy, now on his papa, and now on the Countess, with such a triumph in my heart; for I saw her blush, and look down, and the dear gentleman seemed to eye me with a kind of conscious tenderness, as I thought.
A silence of five minutes, I believe, succeeded, we all four looking upon one another; and the little dear was awake, and stared full upon me, with such innocent smiles, as if he promised to love me, and make me amends for all.
I kissed him, and took his pretty little hand in mine—"You are very good, my charmer, in this company!" said I.
I remembered a scene, which made greatly for me in the papers you have seen, when, instead of recriminating, as I might have done, before Mr. Longman for harsh usage (for, O my lady, your dear brother has a hard heart indeed when he pleases), I only prayed for him on my knees.
And I hope I was not now too mean; for I had dignity and a proud superiority in my vain heart, over them all. Then it was not my part to be upon defiances, where I loved, and where I hoped to reclaim. Besides, what had I done by that, but justified, seemingly, by after acts in a passionate resentment, to their minds, at least, their too wicked treatment of me?—Moreover, your ladyship will remember, that Mr. B. knew not that I was acquainted with his intrigue: for I must call it so. If he had, he is too noble to insult me by such a visit; and he had told me, I should see the lady he was at Oxford with.
And this, breaking silence, he mentioned; saying, "I gave you hope, my dear, that I should procure you the honour of a visit from a lady who put herself under my care at Oxford."
I bowed my head to the Countess; but my tears being ready to start, I kissed my Billy: "Dearest baby," said I, "you are not going to cry, are you?"—I would have had him just then to cry, instead of me.
The tea equipage was brought in. "Polly, carry the child to nurse." I gave it another kiss, and the Countess desired another. I grudged it, to think her naughty lips should so closely follow mine. Her sister kissed it also, and carried him to Mr. B. "Take him away," said he, "I owe him my blessing."
"O these young gentlemen papas!" said the Countess—"They are like young unbroken horses, just put into the traces!"
–"Are they so?" thought I. "Matrimony must not expect your good word, I doubt."
Mr. B. after tea, at which I was far from being talkative (for I could not tell what to say, though I tried, as much as I could not to appear sullen), desired the Countess to play one tune upon the harpsichord.—She did, and sung, at his request, an Italian song to it very prettily; too prettily, I thought. I wanted to find some faults, some great faults in her: but, O Madam, she has too many outward excellencies!—pity she wants a good heart.
He could ask nothing, that she was not ready to oblige him; indeed he could not.
She desired me to touch the keys. I would have been excused; but could not. And the ladies commended my performance; but neither my heart to play, nor my fingers in playing, deserved their praises. Mr. B. said, indeed—"You play better sometimes, my dear."—"Do I, Sir?" was all the answer I made.
The Countess hoped, she said, I would return her visit; and so said the Viscountess.
I replied, Mr. B. would command me whenever he pleased.
She said, she hoped to be better acquainted—("I hope not," thought I)—and that I would give her my company, for a week or so, upon the Forest: it seems she has a seat upon Windsor Forest.
"Mr. B. says," added she, "you can't ride a single horse; but we'll teach you there. 'Tis a sweet place for that purpose."
"How came Mr. B.," thought I, "to tell you that, Madam? I suppose you know more of me than I do myself." Indeed, my lady, this may be too true; for she may know what is to become of me!
I told her, I was very much obliged to her ladyship; and that Mr. B. directed all my motions.
"What say you, Sir?" said the Countess.
"I can't promise that. Madam: for Mrs. B. wants to go down to Kent, before we go to Bedfordshire, and I am afraid I can't give her my company thither."
"Then, Sir, I shan't choose to go without you."
"I suppose not, my dear. But if you are disposed to oblige the Countess for a week, as you never were at Windsor—"
"I believe, Sir," interrupted I, "what with my little nursery, and one thing or another, I must deny myself that honour, for this season."
"Well, Madam, then I'll expect you in Pall Mall."
I bowed my head, and said, Mr. B. would command me.
They took leave with a politeness natural to them. Mr. B., as he handed them to the chariot, said something in Italian to the Countess: the word Pamela was in what he said: she answered him with a downcast look, in the same language, half-pleased, half-serious, and the chariot drove away.
"I would give," said I, "a good deal, Sir, to know what her ladyship said to you; she looked with so particular a meaning, if I may say so."
"I'll tell you, truly, Pamela: I said to her, 'Well, now your ladyship has seen my Pamela—Is she not the charmingest girl in the world?'
"She answered—'Mrs. B. is very grave, for so young a lady; but I must needs say she is a lovely creature.'"
"And did you say so. Sir? And did her ladyship so answer?" And my heart was ready to leap out of my bosom for joy.
But my folly spoiled all again; for, to my own surprise, and great regret, I burst out into tears; though I even sobbed to have suppressed them, but could not; and so I lost a fine opportunity to have talked to him while he was so kind; for he was more angry with me than ever.
What made me such a fool, I wonder? But I had so long struggled with myself; and not expecting so kind a question from the dear gentleman, or such a favourable answer from the Countess, I had no longer any command of myself.
"What ails the little fool?" said he, with a wrathful countenance.
This made me worse, and he added, "Take care, take care, Pamela!—You'll drive me from you, in spite of my own heart."
So he went into the best parlour, and put on his sword, and took his hat. I followed him—"Sir, Sir!" with my arms expanded, was all I could say; but he avoided me, putting on his hat with an air; and out he went, bidding Abraham follow him.
This is the dilemma into which, as I hinted at the beginning of this letter, I have brought myself with Mr. B. How strong, how prevalent is the passion of jealousy; and thus it will shew itself uppermost, when it is uppermost, in spite of one's most watchful regards!
My mind is so perplexed, that I must lay down my pen: and, indeed, your ladyship will wonder, all things considered, that I could write the above account as I have done, in this cruel suspense, and with such apprehensions. But writing is all the diversion I have, when my mind is oppressed.
PAST TEN O'CLOCK AT NIGHT.
I have only time to tell your ladyship (for the postman waits) that Mr. B. is just come in. He is gone into his closet, and has shut the door, and taken the key on the inside; so I dare not go to him there. In this uncertainty and suspense, pity and pray for your ladyship's afflicted sister and servant,
P.B.
LETTER LXXIII
MY DEAR LADY,
I will now proceed with my melancholy account. Not knowing what to do, and Mr. B. not coming near me, and the clock striking twelve, I ventured to send this billet to him, by Polly.
"DEAR SIR,
"I know you choose not to be invaded, when retired to your closet; yet, being very uneasy, on account of your abrupt departure, and heavy displeasure, I take the liberty to write these few lines.
"I own, Sir, that the sudden flow of tears which involuntarily burst from me, at your kind expressions to the Countess in my favour, when I had thought for more than a month past, you were angry with me, and which had distressed my weak mind beyond expression, might appear unaccountable to you. But had you kindly waited but one moment till this fit, which was rather owing to my gratitude than to perverseness, had been over (and I knew the time when you would have generously soothed it), I should have had the happiness of a more serene and favourable parting.
"Will you suffer me, Sir, to attend you? (Polly shall wait your answer). I dare not come without your permission; for should you be as angry as you were, I know not how I shall bear it. But if you say I may come down, I hope to satisfy you, that I intended not any offence. Do, dear Sir, permit me to attend you, I can say no more, than that I am your ever dutiful,
"P.B."
Polly returned with the following. "So," thought I, "a letter!—I could have spared that, I am sure." I expected no favour from it. So tremblingly, opened it.
"MY DEAR,
"I would not have you sit up for me. We are getting apace into the matrimonial recriminations. You knew the time!—So did I, my dear!—But it seems that the time is over with both; and I have had the mortification, for some past weeks, to come home to a very different Pamela, than I used to leave all company and all pleasure for.—I hope we shall better understand one another. But you cannot see me at present with any advantage to yourself; and I would not, that any thing farther should pass, to add to the regrets of both. I wish you good rest. I will give your cause a fair hearing, when I am more fit to hear all your pleas, and your excuses. I cannot be insensible, that the reason for the concern you have lately shewn, must lie deeper than, perhaps, you'll now own. As soon as you are prepared to speak all that is upon your mind, and I to hear it with temper, then we may come to an eclaircissement. Till when I am your affectionate, &c."
My busy apprehension immediately suggested to me, that I was to be terrified, with a high hand, into a compliance with some new scheme or other that was projecting; and it being near one, and hearing nothing from Mr. B., I bid Polly go to bed, thinking she would wonder at our intercourse by letter, if I should send again.
So down I ventured, my feet, however, trembling all the way, and tapped at the door of his closet.
"Who's that?"
"I, Sir: one word, if you please. Don't be more angry, however, Sir."
He opened the door: "Thus poor Hester, to her royal husband, ventured her life, to break in upon him unbidden. But that eastern monarch, great as he was, extended to the fainting suppliant the golden sceptre!"
He took my hand: "I hope, my dear, by this tragedy speech, we are not to expect any sad catastrophe to our present misunderstanding."
"I hope not, Sir. But 'tis all as God and you shall please. I am resolved to do my duty, Sir, if possible. But, indeed, I cannot bear this cruel suspense! Let me know what is to become of me. Let me know but what is designed for me, and you shall be sure of all the acquiescence that my duty and conscience can give to your pleasure."
"What means the dear creature? What means my Pamela? Surely, your head, child, is a little affected!"
"I can't tell, Sir, but it may!—But let me have my trial, that you write about. Appoint my day of hearing, and speedily too; for I would not bear such another month, as the last has been, for the world."
"Come, my dear," said he, "let me attend you to your chamber. But your mind has taken much too solemn a turn, to enter further now upon this subject. Think as well of me as I do of you, and I shall be as happy as ever."
I wept, "Be not angry, dear Sir: your kind words have just the same effect upon me now, as in the afternoon."
"Your apprehensions, my dear, must be very strong, that a kind word, as you call it, has such an effect upon you! But let us wave the subject for a few days, because I am to set out on a little journey at four, and had not intended to go to bed, for so few hours."
When we came up, I said, "I was very bold. Sir, to break in upon you; but I could not help it, if my life had been the forfeit; and you received me with more goodness than I could have expected. But will you pardon me, if I ask, whither you go so soon? And if you had intended to have gone without taking leave of me?"
"I go to Tunbridge, my dear. I should have stept up and taken leave of you before I went."
"Well, Sir, I will not ask you, who is of your party: I will not—No," (putting my hand to his lips) "don't tell me. Sir: it mayn't be proper."
"Don't fear, my dear; I won't tell you: nor am I certain whether it be proper or not, till we are come to a better understanding. Only, once more, think as well of me as I do of you."
"Would to Heaven," thought I, "there was the same reason for the one as for the other!"
I intended (for my heart was full) to enter further into this subject, so fatal to my repose: but the dear gentleman had no sooner laid his head on the pillow, but he fell asleep, or feigned to do so, and that was as prohibitory to my talking as if he had. So I had all my own entertaining reflections to myself; which gave me not one wink of sleep; but made me of so much service, as to tell him, when the clock struck four, that he should not (though I did not say so, you may think, Madam) make my ready rivaless (for I doubted not her being one of the party) wait for him.
He arose, and was dressed instantly; and saluting me, bid me be easy and happy, while it was yet in my own power.
He said, he should be back on Saturday night, as he believed. And I wished him, most fervently, I am sure, health, pleasure, and safety.
Here, Madam, must I end this letter. My next, will, perhaps contain my trial, and my sentence: God give me but patience and resignation, and then whatever occurs, I shall not be unhappy: especially while I can have, in the last resource, the pleasure of calling myself your ladyship's most obliged sister and servant,
P.B.
* * * * *LETTER LXXIV
My dear Lady,
I will be preparing to write to you, as I have opportunity, not doubting but this must be a long letter; and having some apprehensions, that, as things may fall out, I may want either head or heart to write to your ladyship, were I to defer it till the catastrophe of this cruel suspense.
O what a happiness am I sunk from!—And in so few days too! O the wicked masquerades!
The following letter, in a woman's hand, and signed, as you'll see, by a woman's name, and spelt as I spell it, will account to your ladyship for my beginning so heavily. It came by the penny-post.
"Madame,
"I ame unknowne to yowe; but yowe are not so altogathar to mee, becaus I haue bene edefy'd by yowre pius behafiorr att church, whir I see yowe with playsir everie Sabbaoth day. I ame welle acquaintid with the famely of the Coumptesse of–; and yowe maie passiblie haue hard what you wished not to haue hard concerninge hir. Butt this verie morninge, I can assur yowe, hir ladishippe is gon with yowre spowse to Tonbrigge; and theire they are to take lodgings, or a hous; and Mr. B. is after to come to town, and settel matters to go downe to hir, where they are to liue as man and wiffe. Make what use yowe pleas of thiss informasion: and belieue me to haue no other motife, than to serue yowe, becavs of yowre vartues, whiche make yowe deserue a better retorne, I am, thof I shall not set my trewe name, yowre grete admirer and seruant,
"THOMASINE FULLER.
"Wednesday morninge,
"9 o'clock."
Just above I called my state, a state of cruel suspense. But I recall the words: for now it is no longer suspense; since, if this letter says truth, I know the worst: and there is too much appearance that it does, let the writer be who he will, or his or her motive what it will: for, after all, I am apt to fancy this a contrivance of Mr. Turner's, though, for fear of ill consequences, I will not say so.
And now, Madam, I am endeavouring, by the help of religion, and cool reflection, to bring my mind to bear this heavy evil, and to recollect what I was, and how much more honourable an estate I am in, than I could ever have expected to be in; that my virtue and good name are secured; and I can return innocent to my dear parents: and these were once the only pride of my heart.
In addition to what I was then (and yet I pleased myself with my prospects, poor as they were), I have honest parents, bountifully provided for, thank God and your ever-dear brother for this blessing!—and not only provided for—but made useful to him, to the amount of their provision, well-nigh! There is a pride, my lady!
Then I shall have better conditions from his generosity to support myself, than I can wish for, or make use of.
Then I have my dear Billy-O be contented, too charming, and too happy rival, with my husband; and tear not from me my dearest baby, the pledge, the beloved pledge, of our happier affections, and the dear remembrance of what I once was!—A thousand pleasing prospects, that had begun to dawn on my mind, I can bear to have dissipated! But I cannot, indeed I cannot! permit my dear Mr. B.'s son and heir to be torn from me.
But I am running on in a strain that shews my impatience, rather than my resignation; yet some struggles must be allowed me: I could not have loved, as I love, if I could easily part with my interest in so beloved a husband.—For my interest I will part with, and sooner die, than live with a gentleman who has another wife, though I was the first. Let countesses, if they can, and ladies of birth, choose to humble themselves to this baseness. The low-born Pamela cannot stoop to it. Pardon me; you know I only write this with a view to this poor lady's answer to her noble uncle, of which you wrote me word.
FRIDAY
Is now concluding. I hope I am much calmer. For, being disappointed, in all likelihood, in twenty agreeable schemes and projects, I am now forming new ones, with as much pleasure to myself as I may.
I am thinking to try to get good Mrs. Jervis with me. You must not, Madam, be too much concerned for me. After a while, I shall be no unhappy person; for though I was thankful for my splendid fortunes, and should have been glad, to be sure I should, of continuing in them, with so dear a gentleman; yet a high estate had never such dazzling charms with me as it has with some: if it had, I could not have resisted so many temptations, possibly, as God enabled me to resist.
SATURDAY NIGHT
Is now come. 'Tis nine, and no Mr. B.—"O why," as Deborah makes the mother of Sisera say, "is his chariot so long in coming? Why tarry the wheels of his chariot?"
I have this note now at eleven o'clock:
"MY DEAREST PAMELA,
"I dispatch the messenger, lest, expecting me this night, you should be uneasy. I shall not be with you till Monday, when I hope to dine with my dearest life. Ever affectionately yours."
So I'll go up and pray for him, and then to bed.—Yet 'tis a sad thing!—I have had but poor rest for a great while; nor shall have any till my fate is decided.—Hard-hearted man, he knows under what uneasiness he left me!
MONDAY, ELEVEN.
If God Almighty hears my yesterday's, and indeed my hourly, prayers, the dear man will be good still; but my aching heart, every time I think what company he is in (for I find the Countess is certainly one of the party), bodes me little satisfaction.
He's come! He's come! now, just now, come! I will have my trial over before this night be past, if possible. I'll go down and meet him with love unfeigned, and a duty equal to my love, although he may forget his to me. If I conquer myself on this occasion, I conquer nature, as your ladyship says: and then, by God's grace, I can conquer every thing. They have taken their house, I suppose: but what need they, when they'll have one in Bedfordshire, and one in Lincolnshire? But they know best. God bless him, and reform her! That's all the harm I wish them, or will wish them!
My dear Mr. B. has received me with great affection and tenderness.
Sure he cannot be so bad!—Sure he cannot!
"I know, my dear," said he, "I left you in great anxiety; but 'tis an anxiety you have brought upon yourself; and I have not been easy ever since I parted from you."
"I am sorry for it, Sir."
"Why, my dear love, there is still a melancholy air in your countenance: indeed, it seems mingled with a kind of joy; I hope at my return to you. But 'tis easy to see which of the two is the most natural."
"You should see nothing. Sir, that you would not wish to see, if I could help it."
"I am sorry you cannot. But I am come home to hear all your grievances, and to redress them, if in my power."
"When, Sir, am I to come upon my trial? I have much to say. I will tell you everything I think. And, as it may be the last grievances, as you are pleased to call them, I may ever trouble you with, you must promise to answer me not one word till I have done. For, if it does but hold, I have great courage, indeed I you don't know half the sauciness that is in your girl yet; but when I come upon my trial, you'll wonder at my boldness."
"What means my dearest?" taking me into his arms. "You alarm me exceedingly, by this moving sedateness."