Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded

Appeals to parents or guardians often ensue. If, by mediation of friends, a reconciliation takes place, it hardly ever holds: for why? The fault is in the minds of both, and neither of them will think so; so that the wound (not permitted to be probed) is but skinned over, and rankles still at the bottom, and at last breaks out with more pain and anguish than before. Separate beds are often the consequence; perhaps elopements: if not, an unconquerable indifference, possibly aversion. And whenever, for appearance-sake, they are obliged to be together, every one sees, that the yawning husband, and the vapourish wife, are truly insupportable to one another; but separate, have freer spirits, and can be tolerable company.

Now, my dear, I would have you think, and I hope you will have no other reason, that had I married the first lady in the land, I would not have treated her better than I will my Pamela. For my wife is my wife; and I was the longer in resolving on the state, because I knew its requisites, and doubted my conduct in it.

I believe I am more nice than many gentlemen; but it is because I have been a close observer of the behaviour of wedded folks, and hardly ever have seen it to be such as I could like in my own case. I shall, possibly, give you instances of a more particular nature of this, as we are longer, and, perhaps, I might say, better acquainted.

Had I married with the views of many gentlemen, and with such as my good sister (supplying the place of my father and mother,) would have recommended, I had wedded a fine lady, brought up pretty much in my own manner, and used to have her will in every thing.

Some gentlemen can come into a compromise; and, after a few struggles, sit down tolerably contented. But, had I married a princess, I could not have done so. I must have loved her exceedingly well, before I had consented to knit the knot with her, and preferred her to all her sex; for without this, Pamela, indifferences, if not disgusts, will arise in every wedded life, that could not have made me happy at home; and there are fewer instances, I believe, of men’s loving better, after matrimony, than of women’s; the reason of which ‘tis not my present purpose to account for.

Then I must have been morally sure, that she preferred me to all men; and, to convince me of this, she must have lessened, not aggravated, my failings: She must have borne with my imperfections; she must have watched and studied my temper; and if ever she had any points to carry, any desire of overcoming, it must have been by sweetness and complaisance; and yet not such a slavish one, as should make her condescension seem to be rather the effect of her insensibility, than judgment or affection.

She should not have given cause for any part of my conduct to her to wear the least aspect of compulsion or force. The word command, on my side, or obedience on hers, I would have blotted from my vocabulary. For this reason I should have thought it my duty to have desired nothing of her, that was not significant, reasonable, or just; and that then she should, on hers, have shewn no reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt, to oblige me, even at half a word.

I would not have excused her to let me twice enjoin the same thing, while I took so much care to make her compliance with me reasonable, and such as should not destroy her own free agency, in points that ought to be allowed her: And if I was not always right, that yet she would bear with me, if she saw me set upon it; and expostulate with me on the right side of compliance; for that would shew me, (supposing small points in dispute, from which the greatest quarrels, among friends, generally arise,) that she differed from me, not for contradiction-sake, but desired to convince me for my own; and that I should, another time, take better resolutions.

This would be so obliging a conduct, that I should, in justice, have doubled my esteem for one, who, to humour me, could give up her own judgment; and I should see she could have no other view in her expostulations, after her compliance had passed, than to rectify my motions for the future; and it would have been impossible then, but I must have paid the greater deference to her opinion and advice in more momentous matters.

In all companies she must have shewn, that she had, whether I deserved it altogether or not, a high regard and opinion of me; and this the rather, as such a conduct in her would be a reputation and security to herself: For if we rakes attempt a married lady, our first encouragement, exclusive of our own vanity, arises from the indifferent opinion, slight, or contempt, she expresses of her husband.

I should expect, therefore, that she should draw a kind veil over my faults; that such as she could not hide, she would extenuate; that she would place my better actions in an advantageous light, and shew that I had her good opinion, at least, whatever liberties the world took with my character.

She must have valued my friends for my sake; been cheerful and easy, whomsoever I had brought home with me; and, whatever faults she had observed in me, have never blamed me before company; at least, with such an air of superiority, as should have shewn she had a better opinion of her own judgment, than of mine.

Now, my Pamela, this is but a faint sketch of the conduct I must have expected from my wife, let her quality have been what it would; or have lived with her on bad terms. Judge then, if to me a lady of the modish taste could have been tolerable.

The perverseness and contradiction I have too often seen, in some of my visits, even among people of sense, as well as condition, had prejudiced me to the married state; and, as I knew I could not bear it, surely I was in the right to decline it: And you see, my dear, that I have not gone among this class of people for a wife; nor know I, indeed, where, in any class, I could have sought one, or had one suitable to my mind, if not you: For here is my misfortune; I could not have been contented to have been but moderately happy in a wife.

Judge you, from all this, if I could very well bear that you should think yourself so well secured of my affection, that you could take the faults of others upon yourself; and, by a supposed supererogatory merit, think your interposition sufficient to atone for the faults of others.

Yet am I not perfect myself: No, I am greatly imperfect. Yet will I not allow, that my imperfections shall excuse those of my wife, or make her think I ought to bear faults in her, that she can rectify, because she bears greater from me.

Upon the whole, I may expect, that you will bear with me, and study my temper, till, and only till, you see I am capable of returning insult for obligation; and till you think, that I shall be of a gentler deportment, if I am roughly used, than otherwise. One thing more I will add, That I should scorn myself, if there was one privilege of your sex, that a princess might expect, as my wife, to be indulged in, that I would not allow to my Pamela; for you are the wife of my affections: I never wished for one before you, nor ever do I hope to have another.

I hope, sir, said I, my future conduct—Pardon me, said he, my dear, for interrupting you; but it is to assure you, that I am so well convinced of your affectionate regard for me, that I know I might have spared the greatest part of what I have said: And, indeed, it must be very bad for both of us, if I should have reason to think it necessary to say so much. But one thing has brought on another; and I have rather spoken what my niceness has made me observe in other families, than what I fear in my own. And, therefore, let me assure you, I am thoroughly satisfied with your conduct hitherto. You shall have no occasion to repent it: And you shall find, though greatly imperfect, and passionate, on particular provocations, (which yet I will try to overcome,) that you have not a brutal or ungenerous husband, who is capable of offering insult for condescension, or returning evil for good.

I thanked him for these kind rules, and generous assurances: and assured him, that they had made so much impression on my mind, that these, and his most agreeable injunctions before given me, and such as he should hereafter be pleased to give me, should be so many rules for my future behaviour.

And I am glad of the method I have taken of making a Journal of all that passes in these first stages of my happiness, because it will sink the impression still deeper; and I shall have recourse to them for my better regulation, as often as I shall mistrust my memory.

Let me see: What are the rules I am to observe from this awful lecture? Why these:

1. That I must not, when he is in great wrath with any body, break in upon him without his leave. Well, I’ll remember it, I warrant. But yet I think this rule is almost peculiar to himself.

2. That I must think his displeasure the heaviest thing that can befall me. To be sure I shall.

3. And so that I must not wish to incur it, to save any body else. I’ll be further if I do.

4. That I must never make a compliment to any body at his expense.

5. That I must not be guilty of any acts of wilful meanness. There is a great deal meant in this; and I’ll endeavour to observe it all. To be sure, the occasion on which he mentions this, explains it; that I must say nothing, though in anger, that is spiteful or malicious; that is disrespectful or undutiful, and such-like.

6. That I must bear with him, even when I find him in the wrong. This is a little hard, as the case may be!

I wonder whether poor Miss Sally Godfrey be living or dead!

7. That I must be as flexible as the reed in the fable, lest, by resisting the tempest, like the oak, I be torn up by the roots. Well, I’ll do the best I can!—There is no great likelihood, I hope, that I should be too perverse; yet sure, the tempest will not lay me quite level with the ground, neither.

8. That the education of young people of condition is generally wrong. Memorandum; That if any part of children’s education fall to my lot, I never indulge and humour them in things that they ought to be restrained in.

9. That I accustom them to bear disappointments and control.

10. That I suffer them not to be too much indulged in their infancy.

11. Nor at school.

12. Nor spoil them when they come home.

13. For that children generally extend their perverseness from the nurse to the schoolmaster: from the schoolmaster to the parents:

14. And, in their next step, as a proper punishment for all, make their ownselves unhappy.

15. That undutiful and perverse children make bad husbands and wives: And, collaterally, bad masters and mistresses.

16. That, not being subject to be controlled early, they cannot, when married, bear one another.

17. That the fault lying deep, and in the minds of each other, neither will mend it.

18. Whence follow misunderstandings, quarrels, appeals, ineffectual reconciliations, separations, elopements; or, at best, indifference; perhaps, aversion.—Memorandum; A good image of unhappy wedlock, in the words YAWNING HUSBAND, and VAPOURISH WIFE, when together: But separate, both quite alive.

19. Few married persons behave as he likes. Let me ponder this with awe and improvement.

20. Some gentlemen can compromise with their wives, for quietness sake; but he can’t. Indeed I believe that’s true; I don’t desire he should.

21. That love before marriage is absolutely necessary.

22. That there are fewer instances of men’s than women’s loving better after marriage. But why so? I wish he had given his reasons for this! I fancy they would not have been to the advantage of his own sex.

23. That a woman give her husband reason to think she prefers him before all men. Well, to be sure this should be so.

24. That if she would overcome, it must be by sweetness and complaisance; that is, by yielding, he means, no doubt.

25. Yet not such a slavish one neither, as should rather seem the effect of her insensibility, than judgment or affection.

26. That the words COMMAND and OBEY shall be blotted out of the Vocabulary. Very good!

27. That a man should desire nothing of his wife, but what is significant, reasonable, just. To be sure, that is right.

28. But then, that she must not shew reluctance, uneasiness, or doubt, to oblige him; and that too at half a word; and must not be bid twice to do one thing. But may not there be some occasions, where this may be a little dispensed with? But he says afterwards, indeed,