‘You will do her too much honour, ladies,’ said he. ‘The wench is well enough; but no such beauty as you talk of. She was my mother’s waiting-maid, as you know; and her friends being low in the world, my mother on her death-bed recommended her to my compassion. She is young, and every thing is pretty that is young.’
‘Ay, ay,’ said one of the ladies, ‘that’s true; but if your mother had not recommended her so kindly, there is so much merit in beauty, that I make no doubt, but such a fine gentleman as somebody is thought to be, would have wanted no inducement to be generous to it.’
They all laughed at my master: and he, it seems, laughed for company; but said, ‘I don’t know how it is, but I see with different eyes from other people; for I have heard much more talk of her prettiness, than I think it deserves: She is well enough, as I said; but her greatest excellence is, that she is humble, courteous, and faithful, and makes all her fellow-servants love her: My house-keeper, in particular, doats upon her; and you know, ladies, that Mrs Jervis is a woman of discernment: And as for Jonathan here, and my good old steward Longman, if they were younger men, I am told, they would fight for her. Is it not true, Jonathan?’ ‘By my troth, sir,’ answered Jonathan, ‘I never knew her peer; and all your honour’s family are of the same mind as to her.’ ‘Do you hear, ladies?’ said my master. ‘Well,’ said the ladies, ‘we will make a visit to Mrs Jervis by and by, and hope to see this paragon.’
I believe they are coming; and will tell you the rest by and by. I wish they had come, and were gone. Why should they make me the subject of their diversion?
Well, these fine ladies however made their visit to Mrs Jervis in her office, that was the pretence. I would have been absent, if I could; and did step into the closet; so they saw me not when they came in.
There were four of them, Mrs Arthur at the great white house on the hill, Mrs Brooks, Miss Towers,51 (Miss she is called, being a single lady, and yet cannot be less than thirty years of age) and the other, it seems, a countess, of some hard name, I forget what.
Now, if I shall not tire you, I will give you some little account of the characters and persons of these four ladies; for when I was hardly twelve years old, you used not to dislike my descriptions.
You must know, then, that Mrs Arthur is a comely person, inclinable to be fat; but very easy with it, and has pretty good features, though a little too masculine, in my opinion. She has the air of a person of birth, and seems by it to shew, that she expects to be treated as such; and has a freedom and presence of mind in all she says or does, that sets her above being in the least conscious of imperfection in either. It is said, she is pretty passionate in her family on small occasions, and reminds her husband, now and then, that he is not of birth equal to her own; though he is of a good gentleman’s family too: and yet her ancestor was ennobled, it seems, but two reigns ago.52 On the whole, however, she bears no bad character, when her passion is over; and will be sometimes very familiar with her inferiors: yet, Mrs Jervis says, Lady Davers is more passionate53 a great deal; but has better qualities, and is more bountiful. Mr Arthur has the character of a worthy gentleman, as gentlemen go; for he drinks hard, it seems; so indeed all the gentlemen around us do, except my master, who has not that vice to answer for. I am sure, I have a double reason to wish – for his sake as well as my own– he had no worse! But let that pass, at present.
Mrs Brooks is well descended, though not of quality.54 And has as much pride as if she was, if I can guess by her scornful looks: For being a tall thin lady, and of a forbidding kind of aspect, she looks down upon one, as it were, with so much disdain! Yet she has no bad character in her family; she does not talk much, but affects to be thought a lady of great discernment. Her spouse bears a pretty good character; but he gives himself great airs of jesting and rallying upon serious things; and particularly on matrimony, which is his standing jest, whenever his lady is not by. And some people impute this to him as wit: but I remember a saying of my good lady’s, ‘That any body might have a character for wit, who could give themselves the liberty to say what would shock others to think.’
The countess is not only noble by marriage, but by birth: But don’t you wonder to find me scribble so much about family and birth? When, had I reason to boast of it, I should, if I know my own mind, very little value myself upon it; but, contrarily, think with the poet I have heard quoted, That VIRTUE is the only nobility.55 But, indeed, even we inferiors, when we get into genteel families, are infected with this vanity; and though we cannot brag of our own, we will sometimes pride ourselves in that of our principals. But, for my part, I cannot forbear smiling at the absurdity of persons even of the first quality, who value themselves upon their ancestors merits, rather than their own. For is it not as much as to say, they are conscious they have no other?
But how strangely I run on! Let me proceed with the countess’s character, and don’t think me too bold, to take these freedoms with my betters. Her ladyship is not handsome, yet has such an affable look, that one cannot chuse but respect her. But then, with this affable aspect, she has an air that shews, as if she could not easily be daunted. And I don’t know how it is, but one of the chief beauties of the sex seems banished from the faces of ladies, in these days: for they not only don’t know how to blush themselves, but they laugh at any innocent young creature that does, as rustic and half-bred; and (as I have more than once heard them) toss their jests about, and their double meanings, as they own them, as freely as the gentlemen. But whatever reputation these freedoms may give to their wit, I think they do but little credit to their hearts– For, does not the observation hold severely against such, That out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh? 56 The husband of the countess (what makes me forget his title?) it seems, is a bad man, and a bad husband, and her ladyship lives very unhappily with him; and this all the world knows; for he is a lord, and above the world’s opinion. And indeed I never heard of any couple so happy as you, my dear parents, though you labour so hard for a poor livelihood. But Providence gives one thing to one, and another to another. No one has every thing. But to you, my dear father and mother, is given content; and that is better than all the riches in the world, without it.
But Miss Towers outdoes all the ladies in the neighbourhood for wit and repartee; and her conversation is mightily coveted by every body, gentlemen as well as ladies: for no one, they say, can be sad in her company. She has something smart and humourous to say to every body, and on every occasion: so that, though she were to speak a silly thing, (and that I have the boldness to think she has many a one, on visits to my lady) yet every body has such an opinion of her, that they are prepared to laugh and applaud, before she opens her lips. Then she is of family, as indeed they all are; and some call her lady:57 but, indeed, you know we simple bodies are used to give that title to all fine folks, who live upon their means. Miss Towers is well-shaped, is of an easy deportment, and has no one ill feature, taken separately: yet I know not how it is; but they seem as if they were not well put together, if I may so say. It was talked, that the rakish ’Squire Martin of the Grove, and this lady, were to make a match; but she refused him, because of his free life: for though she takes great liberties of speech, and can’t help it, being a wit, as they call it, yet she is a lady of virtue, and morals, at least. But what a length have I run I It is time to return to their visit to Mrs Jervis.
They entered the room with great flutter, laughing heartily at something Miss Towers had said, as she came along. Mrs Jervis stood up at their appearance: ‘So, Mrs Jervis,’ says one of the ladies, ‘how do you do? We are all come to inquire after your health.’ ‘I am much obliged to you, ladies,’ said Mrs Jervis. ‘But,’ said the countess, ‘we are not only come to ask after Mrs Jervis’s health neither: We are come to see a rarity besides.’ ‘Ay,’ says Mrs Arthur, ‘I have not seen your lady’s Pamela these two years, and they tell me she is grown wondrous pretty.’
Then I wished I had not been in the closet; for when I came out, they mu
st needs know I heard them: but I have often found, that bashful people owe themselves a spite, and frequently confound themselves more, by endeavouring to avoid confusion.
‘Why, yes,’ said Mrs Jervis, ‘Pamela is very pretty indeed; she is but in the closet there: Pamela, pray step hither.’
I came out, covered with blushes; and they smiled at one another.
The countess took my hand. ‘Why, indeed,’ she was pleased to say, ‘report has not been too lavish, I’ll assure you. Don’t be ashamed, child’ (and stared full in my face); ‘I wish I had just such a face to be ashamed of.’
Mrs Arthur said, ‘Ay, my good Pamela, I say as her ladyship says: don’t be so much ashamed; though indeed your blushes become you. I think your good lady departed made a sweet choice of such a pretty attendant. She would have been mighty proud of you, as she always was praising you, had she lived till now.’
‘Ah! madam,’ said Mrs Brooks, ‘do you believe, that so dutiful a son as our neighbour, who always admired what his mother loved, does not pride himself, for all what he said at table, in such a pretty maiden?’
She looked with such a malicious sneering countenance, I cannot abide her.
Miss Towers, with her usual free air, said, ‘Well, Mrs Pamela, I can’t say I like you so well as these ladies do; for I should never care, if I had a husband, and you were my servant, to have you and your master in the same house together.’
Then they all set up a great laugh.
They are ladies, my dear father, and ladies may say any thing.
Says Miss Towers, ‘Can the pretty image speak, Mrs Jervis? I vow she has speaking eyes! O you little rogue,’ said she, and tapped me on the cheek, ‘you seem born to undo, or to be undone!’
‘God forbid, madam,’ said I, ‘it should be either! I beg leave to withdraw; for the sense I have of my unworthiness, renders me unfit for such a presence.’
I then went away, with one of my best court’sies to each lady; and Miss Towers said, as I went out, ‘Prettily said, I vow!’ And Mrs Brooks said, ‘See that shape! I never saw such a face and shape in my life; why she must be better descended than you have told me.’
They went to my master, it seems, so full of me, that he had much ado to stand it; but as their praises were very little to my reputation, I am sure I take no pride in them; and I fear they will make no better for me. This gives me another cause for wishing myself out of this house.
This is Thursday morning, and next Thursday I hope to set out; for I have finished my task, and my master is very cross! I am vexed that his crossness affects me so. If ever he had any kindness towards me, for his mother’s sake, I believe he now hates me heartily.
Is it not strange that love borders so much upon hatred? But this wicked love is not like the true virtuous love, to be sure. And how must this hatred have been increased, if he had met with a base compliance?
How happy am I, to be turned out of doors, with that sweet companion, my innocence! ‘O may that be always my companion! And while I presume not upon my own strength, and am willing to avoid the tempter, I hope the divine grace will assist me.’
Forgive me, that I repeat in my letter part of my hourly prayer. I owe every thing, next to God’s goodness, to your piety and good lessons, my dear parents; my dear poor parents! I say that word with pleasure; for your poverty is my pride, as your integrity shall be my imitation.
As soon as I have dined, I will put on my new clothes. I long to have them on. I know I shall surprise Mrs Jervis with them; for she shan’t see me till I am full-dressed. John is come back, and I’ll soon send you some of what I have written. I find he is going early in the morning; and so I’ll close here, that I am
Your most dutiful Daughter.
Don’t lose your time in meeting me; because I am so uncertain. It is hard, if some how or other I can’t get a conveyance. But it may be that my master won’t refuse to let John bring me. John is very careful, and very honest; and you know John as well as I; for he loves you both.
LETTER XXIV
I shall write on, as long as I stay, though I should have nothing but sillinesses to write; for I know you divert yourselves on nights with what I write, because it is mine. John tells me how much you long for my coming; but he says, he told you, he hoped something would happen to hinder it.
I am glad you did not tell him the occasion of my going away; for if my fellow-servants were to guess the reason, it were better so than to have it from you or me; besides, I really am concerned that my master should cast away a thought upon such a poor creature as me; for besides the disgrace, his temper is quite changed; and I begin to believe what Mrs Jervis told me, that he likes me, and can’t help it; and is vexed he cannot.
Don’t think me presumptuous and conceited; for it is more my concern than my pride, to see such a gentleman so much undervalue himself in the eyes of his servants, on my account. But I am to tell you of my new dress to-day.
And so, when I had dined, up stairs I went, and locked myself into my little room. There I tricked myself up58 as well as I could in my new garb, and put on my round-eared ordinary cap; but with a green knot,59 however, and my home-spun gown and petticoat, and plain leather shoes; but yet they are what they call Spanish leather. A plain muslin tucker60 I put on, and my black silk necklace, instead of the French necklace my lady gave me; and put the earrings out of my ears, and when I was quite equipped, I took my straw hat in my hand, with its two green strings, and looked about me in the glass, as proud as any thing. To say truth, I never liked myself so well in my life.
O the pleasure of descending with ease, innocence, and resignation! Indeed there is nothing like it! An humble mind, I plainly see, cannot meet with any very shocking disappointment, let fortune’s wheel turn round as it will.
So I went down to look for Mrs Jervis, to see how she liked me.
I met, as I was upon the stairs, our Rachel, who is the house maid; and she made me a low curt’sy, and I found did not know me. I smiled, and went to the housekeeper’s parlour: and there sat good Mrs Jervis at work. And, would you believe it, she did not know me at first; but rose up, and pulled off her spectacles; and said, ‘Do you want me, young woman? ‘I could not help laughing, and said, ‘Hey day! Mrs Jervis, what! don’t you know me? ‘She stood all in amaze, and looked at me from head to foot. ‘Why, you surprise me,’ said she; ‘what, Pamela, thus metamorphosed! How came this about?’
As it happened, in stepped my master; and my back being to him, he thought it was a stranger speaking to Mrs Jervis, and withdrew again; and did not hear her ask, if his honour had any commands for her? She turned me about and about and I shewed her all my dress, to my under-petticoat; and she said, sitting down, ‘Why, I am all in amaze: I must sit down. What can all this mean?’
I told her, I had no clothes suitable to my condition, when I returned to my father’s; and so it was better to begin here, as I was soon to go away, that all my fellow-servants might see I knew how to suit myself to the state I was returning to.
‘Well,’ said she, ‘I never knew the like of thee. But this sad preparation for going away, (for now I see you are quite in earnest) is what I know not how to get over. O my dear Pamela, how can I part with you!’
My master rung in the back-parlour, and so I withdrew, and Mrs Jervis went to attend him. It seems he said to her, ‘I was coming in to let you know that I shall go to Lincolnshire, and perhaps to my Lord Davers’s, and be absent some weeks. But pray, what pretty neat damsel was that with you?’
She says, she smiled, and asked, if his honour did not know who it was.
‘No,’ said he, ‘I never saw her before. Farmer Nichols, or Farmer Brady, have neither of them such a tight61 smart lass for a daughter, have they? Though I did not see her face neither.’
‘If your honour won’t be angry,’ said she, ‘I will introduce her into your presence; for I think she outdoes our Pamela.’
‘That can’t be,’ he was pleased to say: ‘but if you can find an excuse for it
, let the girl come in.’
Now I did not thank her for this, as I told her afterwards; for it brought a great deal of trouble upon me, as well as crossness, as you shall hear.
She then stepped to me, and told me, I must go in with her to my master. ‘But,’ said she, ‘for goodness sake, let him find you out; for he don’t know you.’ ‘O fie, Mrs Jervis,’ said I, ‘how could you serve me so? Besides, it looks too free both in me, and to him.’
‘I tell you,’ said she, ‘you shall come in; and pray don’t reveal yourself till he finds you out.’
So I went in, foolish creature that I was! yet I must have been seen by him another time, if I had not then. And she would make me take my straw hat in my hand.
I dropped a low curt’sy, but said never a word. I dare say he knew me as soon as he saw my face; but was as cunning as Lucifer. He came up to meet me, and took me by the hand, and said, ‘Whose pretty maiden are you? I dare say you are Pamela’s sister, you are so like her; so neat, so clean, so pretty! Why, child, you far surpass your sister Pamela!’
I was all confusion, and would have spoken; but he took me about the neck. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘you are very pretty, child: I would not be so free with your sister, you may believe; but I must kiss you.’
‘O sir,’ said I, as much surprized as vexed,. ‘I am Pamela. Indeed I am Pamela, her own self!’
‘Impossible!’ said he, and kissed me, for all I could do. ‘You are a lovelier girl by half than Pamela’; and again would kiss me.
This was a sad trick upon me, and what I did not expect; and Mrs Jervis looked like a fool, as much as I, for her officiousness. At last I disengaged myself, and ran out of the parlour, very much vexed, you may well think.
He talked a good deal to Mrs Jervis, and at last ordered me to attend him again; and insisting on my obedience, I went, but very unwillingly. As soon as he saw me, ‘Come in,’ said he, ‘you little villain! (I thought men only could be called villains); ‘who is it you put your tricks upon? I was resolved never again to honour you with my notice; and so you must disguise yourself, to attract me, and yet pretend, like an hypocrite as you are–’