PAMELA; OR, VIRTUE Rewarded. In a Series of FAMILIAR LETTERS, &c.
[]LETTER I.
I Have great Trouble and ſome Comfort, to acquaint you with. The Trouble is, that my good Lady died of the Ill⯑neſs I mention'd to you, and left us all much grieved for her Loſs; for ſhe was a dear good Lady, and kind to all us her Servants. Much I fear'd, that as I was taken by her Ladyſhip to wait upon her Perſon, I ſhould be quite deſtitute again, and forc'd to return to you [2] and my poor Mother, who have enough to do to maintain yourſelves; and, as my Lady's Goodneſs had put me to write and caſt Accompts, and made me a little expert at my Needle, and other Qualifi⯑cations above my Degree, it would have been no eaſy Matter to find a Place that your poor Pamela was fit for: But God, whoſe Graciouſneſs to us we have ſo often experienc'd at a Pinch, put it into my good Lady's Heart, on her Death-bed, juſt an Hour before ſhe expir'd, to recommend to my young Maſter all her Servants, one by one; and when it came to my Turn to be recommended, (for I was ſobbing and crying at her Pillow) ſhe could only ſay, My dear Son! — and ſo broke off a little; and then recovering — Remember my poor Pa⯑mela! — And theſe were ſome of her laſt Words! O how my Eyes run! — Don't wonder to ſee the Paper ſo blotted!
Well, but God's Will muſt be done! — and ſo comes the Comfort, that I ſhall not be oblig'd to re⯑turn back to be a Clog upon my dear Parents! For my Maſter ſaid, I will take care of you all, my Laſſes; and for you, Pamela, (and took me by the Hand; yes, he took my Hand before them all) for my dear Mother's ſake, I will be a Friend to you, and you ſhall take care of my Linen. God bleſs him! and pray with me, my dear Father and Mother, for a Bleſſing upon him: For he has given Mourning and a Year's Wages to all my Lady's Ser⯑vants; and I having no Wages as yet, my Lady having ſaid ſhe would do for me as I deſerv'd, order'd the Houſe-keeper to give me Mourning with the reſt, and gave me with his own Hand Four golden Guineas, and ſome Silver, which were, in my old Lady's Pocket when ſhe dy'd; and ſaid, If I was a good Girl, and faithful and diligent, he would be a Friend to me, for his Mother's ſake. And ſo I ſend [3] you theſe four Guineas for your Comfort; for Pro⯑vidence will not let me want: And ſo you may pay ſome old Debt with Part; and keep the other Part to comfort you both. If I get more, I am ſure it is my Duty, and it ſhall be my Care, to love and cheriſh you both; for you have lov'd and cheriſh'd me, when I could do nothing for myſelf: And ſo you have for us all, or what muſt have become of us! I ſend it by John our Footman, who goes your way; but he does not know what he carries; becauſe I ſeal it up in one of the little Pill boxes which my Lady had, wrapt cloſe in Paper, that it mayn't chink; and be ſure don't open it before him.
I know, dear Father and Mother, I muſt give you both Grief and Pleaſure; and ſo I will only ſay, Pray for your Pamela; who will ever be
I have been ſcared out of my Senſes; for juſt now, as I was folding this Letter, in my late Lady's Dreſſing-room, in comes my young Maſter! Good Sirs! how was I frightened! I went to hide the Letter in my Boſom, and he ſeeing me tremble, ſaid, ſmiling, Who have you been writing to, Pamela? — I ſaid, in my Confuſion, Pray your Honour forgive me! — Only to my Father and Mother. He ſaid, Well then, Let me ſee how you are come on in your Writing! O how aſham'd I was! — He, in my Fright, took it, without ſaying more, and read it quite thro', and then gave it me again; — and I ſaid, Pray your Honour forgive me! — Yet I know not for what: For he was always dutiful to his Parents; and why ſhould he be angry, that I was ſo to mine! And in⯑deed he was not angry: for he took me by the [4] Hand, and ſaid, You are a good Girl, Pa⯑mela, to be kind to your aged Father and Mother. I am not angry with you. Be faith⯑ful and diligent; and do as you ſhould do, and I like you the better for this. And then he ſaid, Why, Pamela, you write a very pretty Hand, and ſpell tolerably too. I ſee my good Mother's Care in your Learning has not been thrown away upon you. She uſed to ſay, you lov'd reading; you may look into any of her Books to improve yourſelf, ſo you take care of them. To be ſure I did nothing but cur⯑teſy and cry, and was all in Confuſion, at his Goodneſs. Indeed he is the beſt of Gentle⯑men, I think! But I am making another long Letter. So will only ſay further, that I ſhall ever be
LETTER II. In Anſwer to the preceding.
YOUR Letter was indeed a great Trouble, and ſome Comfort to me and your poor Mother. We are troubled, to be ſure, for your good Lady's Death, who took ſuch Care of you, and gave you Learn⯑ing, and for Three or Four Years paſt has always been giving you Cloaths and Linen, and every thing that a Gentlewoman need not be aſham'd to appear in. But our chief Trouble is, and indeed a very great [5] one, for fear you ſhould be brought to any thing diſhoneſt or wicked, by being ſet ſo above yourſelf. Every body talks how you have come on, and what a genteel Girl you are, and ſome ſay, you are very pretty; and indeed, Six Months ſince, when I ſaw you laſt, I ſhould have thought ſo too, if you was not our Child. But what avails all this, if you are to be ruin'd and undone! — Indeed, my dear Child, we begin to be in great Fear for you; for what ſignify all the Riches in the World, with a bad Conſcience, and to be diſhoneſt? We are, 'tis true, very poor, and find it hard enough to live; tho' once, as you know, it was better with us. But we would ſooner live upon the Water and Clay of the Ditches I am forced to dig, than to live better at the Price of our dear Child's Ruin.
I hope the good 'Squire has no Deſign; but when he has given you ſo much Money, and ſpeaks ſo kindly to you, and praiſes your coming on; and Oh! that fatal Word, that he would be kind to you, if you would do as you ſhould do, almoſt kills us with Fears.
I have ſpoken to good old Widow Mumford about it, who, you know, has formerly lived in good Fa⯑milies, and ſhe puts us in ſome Comfort; for ſhe ſays, it is not unuſual, when a Lady dies, to give what ſhe has about her Perſon to her Waiting-maid, and to ſuch as ſit up with her in her Illneſs. But then, why ſhould he ſmile ſo kindly upon you? Why ſhould he take ſuch a poor Girl as you by the Hand, as your Letter ſays he has done twice? Why ſhould he ſtoop to read your Letter to us; and commend your Writing and Spelling? And, why ſhould he give you Leave to read his Mother's Books! — Indeed, indeed, my deareſt Child, our Hearts ake for you; and then you ſeem ſo full of Joy at his Goodneſs, ſo taken with his kind Expreſſions, which, truly, are [6] very great Favours, if he means well, that we fear — Yes, my dear Child, we fear — you ſhould be too grateful, — and reward him with that Jewel, your Virtue which no Riches, nor Favour, nor any thing in this Life, can make up to you.
I, too, have written a long Letter; but will ſay one Thing more; and that is, That in the Midſt of our Poverty and Misfortunes, we have truſted in God's Goodneſs, and been honeſt, and doubt not to be happy hereafter, if we continue to be good, tho' our Lot is hard here; but the Loſs of our dear Child's Virtue, would be a Grief that we could not bear, and would bring our grey Hairs to the Grave at once.
If, then, you love us, if you value God's Bleſſing, and your own future Happineſs, we both charge you to ſtand upon your Guard; and, if you find the leaſt Attempt made upon your Virtue, be ſure you leave every thing behind you, and come away to us; for we had rather ſee you all cover'd with Rags, and even follow you to the Church-yard, than have it ſaid, a Child of ours preferr'd any worldly Conveniencies to her Virtue.
We accept kindly of your dutiful Preſent; but 'till we are out of our Pain, cannot make uſe of it, for fear we ſhould partake of the Price of our poor Daughter's Shame: So have laid it up in a Rag among the Thatch, over the Window, for a while, leſt we ſhould be robb'd. With our Bleſſings and our hearty Prayers for you, we remain,
LETTER III.
[7]I Muſt needs ſay, your Letter has fill'd me with much Trouble. For it has made my Heart, which was overflowing with Gratitude for my Ma⯑ſter's Goodneſs, ſuſpicious and fearful; and yet, I hope I ſhall never find him to act unworthy of his Character; for what could he get by ruining ſuch a poor young Creature as me? But that which gives me moſt Trouble is, that you ſeem to miſtruſt the Honeſty of your Child. No, my dear Father and Mother, be aſſur'd, that, by God's Grace, I never will do any thing that ſhall bring your grey Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave. I will die a thouſand Deaths, rather than be diſhoneſt any way. Of that be aſſur'd, and ſet your Hearts at Reſt; for altho' I have liv'd above myſelf for ſome Time paſt, yet I can be con⯑tent with Rags and Poverty, and Bread and Water, and will embrace them, rather than forfeit my good Name, let who will be the Tempter. And of this reſt ſatisfy'd, and think better of
My Maſter continues to be very affable to me. As yet I ſee no Cauſe to fear any thing. Mrs. Jer⯑vis the Houſe-keeper too is very civil to me, and I have the Love of every body. Sure they can't all have Deſigns againſt me becauſe they are civil! I hope I ſhall always behave ſo as to be reſpected by every one; and that nobody would do me more Hurt, than I am ſure I would do them. Our John ſo often goes your way, that I will always get him to call, that you may hear from me, either by Writing, (for it brings my Hand in) or by Word of Mouth.
LETTER IV.
[8]FOR the laſt Letter was to my Father, in Anſwer to his Letter; and ſo I will now write to you; tho' I have nothing to ſay but what will make me look more like a vain Huſſy, than any thing elſe: Yet I hope I ſhan't be ſo proud as to forget myſelf. Yet there is a ſecret Pleaſure one has to hear one's ſelf prais'd. You muſt know then, that my Lady Davers, who, I need not tell you, is my Maſter's Siſter, has been a Month at our Houſe, and has taken great Notice of me, and given me good Advice to keep myſelf to myſelf; ſhe told me I was a very pretty Wench; and that every body gave me a very good Character, and lov'd me; and bid me take care to keep the Fellows at a Diſtance; and ſaid, that I might do, and be more valu'd for it, even by themſelves.
But what pleas'd me much, was what I am going to tell you; for at Table, as Mrs. Jervis ſays, my Maſter and her Ladyſhip talking of me, ſhe told him, ſhe thought me the prettieſt Wench ſhe ever ſaw in her Life; and that I was too pretty to live in a Batchelor's Houſe; ſince no Lady he might marry, would care to continue me with her. He ſaid, I was vaſtly improv'd, and had a good Share of Prudence, and Senſe above my Years; and it would be Pity, that what was my Merit, ſhould be my Misfortune.— No, ſays my good Lady, Pamela ſhall come and live with me, I think. He ſaid, Withall his Heart; he ſhould be glad to have me ſo well provided for. Well, ſaid ſhe, I'll conſult my Lord about it. She aſk'd, How old I was; and Mrs. Jervis ſaid, I was Fifteen laſt February. O! ſays ſhe, if the Wench (for ſo ſhe calls all us Maiden Ser⯑vants) takes care of herſelf, ſhe'll improve yet more and more, as well in her Perſon as Mind.
[9]Now, my dear Father and Mother, tho' this may look too vain to be repeated by me, yet are you not rejoic'd as well as I, to ſee my Maſter ſo willing to part with me? — This ſhews that he has nothing bad in his Heart. But John is juſt going away, and ſo I have only to ſay, that I am, and will always be,
Pray make uſe of the Money. You may now do it ſafely.
LETTER V.
JOHN being to go your way, I am willing to write, becauſe he is ſo willing to carry any thing for me. He ſays it does him good at his Heart to ſee you both, and to hear you talk. He ſays you are both ſo ſenſible, and ſo honeſt, that he always learns ſome⯑thing from you to the Purpoſe. It is a thouſand Pities, he ſays, that ſuch worthy Hearts ſhould not have better Luck in the World! and wonders, that you, my Fa⯑ther, who are ſo well able to teach, and write ſo good a Hand, ſucceeded no better in the School you at⯑tempted to ſet up; but was forced to go to ſuch hard Labour. But this is more Pride to me, that I am come of ſuch honeſt Parents, than if I had been born a Lady.
I hear nothing yet of going to Lady Davers. And I am very eaſy at preſent here. For Mrs. Jervis uſes me as if I were her own Daughter, and is a very good Woman, and makes my Maſter's Intereſt her own. She is always giving me good Counſel, and I love her, next to you two, I think beſt of any body. She keeps ſo good Rule and Order, ſhe is mightily reſpected by us all; and takes Delight to hear me read to her: and [10] all ſhe loves to hear read, is good Books, which we read whenever we are alone; ſo that I think I am at home with you. She heard one of our Men, Harry, who is no better than he ſhould be, ſpeak freely to me; I think he called me his pretty Pamela, and took hold of me, as if he would have kiſſed me; for which, you may be ſure, I was very angry; and ſhe took him to Taſk, and was as angry at him as could be, and told me ſhe was very well pleaſed to ſee my Prudence and Modeſty, and that I kept all the Fellows at a Diſtance. And indeed I am ſure I am not proud, and carry it civilly to every body; but yet, methinks I cannot bear to be look'd upon by theſe Men-ſervants; for they ſeem as if they would look one thro'; and, as I gene⯑really breakfaſt, dine, and ſup with Mrs. Jervis, ſo good ſhe is to me, I am very eaſy that I have ſo little to ſay to them. Not but they are very civil to me in the main, for Mrs. Jervis's ſake, who they ſee loves me; and they ſtand in Awe of her, knowing her to be a Gentlewoman born, tho' ſhe has had Misfortunes.
I am going on again with a long Letter; for I love Writing, and ſhall tire you. But when I began, I only intended to ſay, that I am quite fearleſs of any Danger now: And indeed can but wonder at myſelf, (tho' your Caution to me was your watchful Love) that I ſhould be ſo fooliſh as to be ſo uneaſy as I have been: For I am ſure my Maſter would not demean himſelf ſo, as to think upon ſuch a poor Girl as I, for my Harm. For ſuch a thing would ruin his Credit as well as mine, you know: Who, to be ſure, may expect one of the beſt Ladies in the Land. So no more at preſent; but that I am
LETTER VI.
[11]MY Maſter has been very kind ſince my laſt; for he has given me a Suit of my late Lady's Cloaths, and half a Dozen of her Shifts, and Six fine Handker⯑chiefs, and Three of her Cambrick Aprons, and Four Holland ones. The Cloaths are fine Silk, and too rich and too good for me, to be ſure. I wiſh it was no Affront to him to make Money of them, and ſend it to you; it would do me more good.
You will be full of Fears, I warrant now, of ſome Deſign upon me, till I tell you, that he was with Mrs. Jervis when he gave them me; and he gave her a Mort of good Things at the ſame Time, and bid her wear them in Remembrance of her good Friend, my Lady, his Mother. And when he gave me theſe fine Things, he ſaid, Theſe, Pamela, are for you; have them made fit for you, when your Mourning is laid by, and wear them for your good Miſtreſs's ſake. Mrs. Jervis gives you a very good Word; and I would have you continue to behave as prudently as you have done hitherto, and every body will be your Friend.
I was ſo ſurpris'd at his Goodneſs, that I could not tell what to ſay. I curteſy'd to him, and to Mrs. Jervis for her good Word; and ſaid, I wiſh'd I might be deſerving of his Favour: And nothing ſhould be wanting in me, to the beſt of my Know⯑ledge.
O how amiable a Thing is doing Good!—It is all I envy great Folks for!
I always thought my young Maſter a fine Gentle⯑man, as every body ſays he is: But he gave theſe [12] good Things to us both with ſuch a Graciouſneſs, as I thought he look'd like an Angel.
Mrs. Jervis ſays, he ask'd her, If I kept the Men at a Diſtance; for he ſaid, I was very pretty, and to be drawn in to have any of them, might be my Ruin, and make me poor and miſerable betimes. She never is wanting to give me a good Word, and took Occaſion to launch out in my Praiſe, ſhe ſays. But I hope ſhe ſaid no more than I ſhall try to deſerve, tho' I mayn't at preſent. I am ſure I will always love her next to you and my dear Mother. So I reſt
LETTER VII.
SINCE my laſt, my Maſter gave me more fine Things. He call'd me up to my late Lady's Cloſer, and pulling out her Drawers, he gave me Two Suits of fine Flanders lac'd Headcloaths, Three Pair of fine Silk Shoes, two hardly the worſe, and juſt fit for me, and the other with rich Silver Buckles in them (for my Lady had a very little Foot); and ſeveral Ribbands and Topknots of all Colours; Four Pair of fine white Cotton Stockens, and Three Pair of fine Silk ones; and two Pair of rich Stays. I was quite aſtoniſhed, and unable to ſpeak for a while; but yet I was inwardly aſhamed to take the Stockens; for Mrs. Jervis was not there: If ſhe had, it would have been nothing. I believe I receiv'd them very awkwardly; for he ſmil'd at my Awkwardneſs, and ſaid, Don't bluſh, Pamela: Doſt think I don't know pretty Maids wear Shoes and Stockens?
[13]I was ſo confounded at theſe Words, you might have beat me down with a Feather. For, you muſt think, there was no Anſwer to be made to this: So, like a Fool, I was ready to cry; and went away cur⯑teſying and bluſhing, I am ſure, up to the Ears; for, tho' there was no Harm in what he ſaid, yet I did not know how to take it. But I went and told all to Mrs. Jervis, who ſaid, God put it into his Heart to be good to me; and I muſt double my Diligence. It looked to her, ſhe ſaid, as if he would fit me in Dreſs for a Waiting-maid's Place on Lady Davers's own Perſon.
But ſtill your kind fatherly Cautions came into my Head, and made all theſe Gifts nothing near to me what they would have been. But yet, I hope, there is no Reaſon; for what Good could it do to him to harm ſuch a ſimple Maiden as me? Beſides, to be ſure, no Lady would look upon him, if he ſhould ſo diſgrace, himſelf. So I will make myſelf eaſy; and indeed, I ſhould never have been otherwiſe, if you had not put it into my Head; for my Good, I know very well. But, may-be, without theſe Uneaſineſſes to mingle with theſe Benefits, I might be too much puff'd up: So I will conclude. All that happens is ſor our Good; and ſo, God bleſs you, my dear Father and Mother; and I know you conſtantly pray for a Bleſſing upon me; who am, and ſhall always be,
LETTER VIII.
I Cannot but renew my Cautions to you on your Maſter's Kindneſs to you, and his free Expreſſion to you about the Stockens. Yet there may not be, [14] and I hope there is not, any thing in it. But when I reflect, that there poſſibly may, and that if there ſhould, no leſs depends upon it than my Child's ever⯑laſting Happineſs in this World and the next; it is enough to make one fearful for you. Arm yourſelf, my dear Child, for the worſt; and reſolve to loſe your Life ſooner than your Virtue. What tho' the Doubts I fill'd you with, leſſen the Pleaſure you would have had in your Maſter's Kindneſs, yet what ſignify the Delights that ariſe from a few paltry fine Cloaths, in Compariſon with a good Conſcience?
Theſe are indeed very great Favours that he heaps upon you, but ſo much the more to be ſuſpected; and when you ſay he look'd ſo amiably, and like an Angel, how afraid I am, that they ſhould make too great an Impreſſion upon you; For, tho' you are bleſſed with Senſe and Prudence above your Years, yet I tremble to think what a ſad Hazard a poor Maiden of little more than Fifteen Years of Age ſtands againſt the Temptations of this World, and a deſigning young Gentleman, if he ſhould prove ſo; who has ſo much Power to oblige, and has a kind of Authority to command as your Maſter.
I charge you, my dear Child, on both our Bleſſings, poor as we are, to be on your Guard; there can be no Harm in that: and ſince Mrs. Jervis is ſo good a Gentlewoman, and ſo kind to you, I am the eaſier a great deal, and ſo is your Mother, and we hope you will hide nothing from her▪ and take her Coun⯑ſel in every thing. So, with our Bleſſings and aſſured Prayers for you, more than for ourſelves, we remain
Beſure don't let People's telling you you are pretty, puff you up: for you did not make yourſelf, and [15] ſo can have no Praiſe due to you for it. It is Virtue and Goodneſs only, that make the true Beauty. Remember that, Pamela.
LETTER IX.
I Am ſorry to write you Word, that the Hopes I had of going to wait on Lady Davers are quite over. My Lady would have had me; but my Ma⯑ſter, as I heard by-the-bye, would not conſent to it. He ſaid, her Nephew might be taken with me, and I might draw him in, or be drawn in by him; and he thought, as his Mother loved me, and committed me to his Care, he ought to continue me with him; and Mrs. Jervis would be a Mother to me. Mrs. Jervis tells me, the Lady ſhook her Head, and ſaid, Ah! Brother! and that was all. And as you have made me fearful by your Cautions, my Heart at times miſgives me. But I ſay nothing yet of your Caution, or my own Uneaſineſs, to Mrs Jervis; not that I miſtruſt her, but for fear ſhe ſhould think me preſumptuous, and vain, and conceited, to have any Fears about the matter, from the great Diſtance between ſo great a Man, and ſo poor a Girl. But yet Mrs. Jervis ſeemed to build ſomething upon Lady Davers' ſhaking her Head, and ſaying, Ah! Brother, and no more! God, I hope, will give me his Grace; and ſo I will not, if I can help it, make myſelf too uneaſy; for I hope there is no Occaſion But every little matter that happens, I will acquaint you with, that you ſhall continue to me your good Advice, and pray for
LETTER X.
[16]YOU and my good Father may wonder you have not had a Letter from me in ſo many Weeks; but a ſad, ſad Scene has been the Occaſion of it. For, to be ſure, now it is too plain, that all your Cautions were well-grounded. O my dear Mother! I am miſerable, truly miſerable! —But yet, don't be frighted, I am honeſt;—God, of his Good⯑neſs, keep me ſo!
O this Angel of a Maſter! this fine Gentleman! this gracious Benefactor to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the Prayer of his good dying Mother; who was ſo careful of me, leſt I ſhould be drawn in by Lord Davers's Nephew, that he would not let me go to Lady Davers's: This very Gentleman (yes, I muſt call him Gentle⯑man, tho' he has fallen from the Merit of that Title) has degraded himſelf to offer Freedoms to his poor Servant! He has now ſhewed himſelf in his true Co⯑lours, and to me, nothing appears ſo black and ſo frightful.
I have not been idle; but have writ from time to time, how he, by ſly mean Degrees, expoſed his wicked Views: But ſomebody ſtole my Letter, and I know not what has become of it. It was a very long one. I fear that he who was mean enough to do bad things, in one reſpect, did not ſtick at this; but be it as it will, all the Uſe he can make of it will be, that he may be aſhamed of his Part; I not of mine. For he will ſee I was reſolved to be virtuous, and glory'd in the Honeſty of my poor Parents.
I will tell you all, the next Opportunity; for I am watch'd very narrowly; and he ſays to Mrs. Jervis, [17] This Girl is always ſcribbling; I think ſhe may be better employ'd. And yet I work all Hours with my Needle, upon his Linen, and the fine Linen of the Family; and am beſides about flowering him a Waiſt⯑coat.—But, Oh! my Heart's broke almoſt; for what am I likely to have for my Reward, but Shame and Diſgrace, or elſe ill Words, and hard Treatment! I'll tell you all ſoon, and hope I ſhall find my long Letter.
I muſt he and him him now; for he has loſt his Dignity with me.
LETTER XI.
WELL, I can't find my Letter, and ſo I'll tell you all, as briefly as I can. All went well enough in the main for ſome time after my laſt Letter but one. At laſt, I ſaw ſome Reaſon to ſuſpect; for he would look upon me, whenever he ſaw me, in ſuch a manner, as ſhew'd not well; and at laſt he came to me, as I was in the Summer-houſe in the little Garden, at work with my Needle, and Mrs. Jervis was juſt gone from he; and I would have gone out; but he ſaid, No, don't go, Pamela; I have ſomething to ſay to you; and you always fly me, when I come near you, as if you were afraid of me.
I was much out of Countenance, you may well think: but ſaid at laſt, It does not become your [18] poor Servant to ſtay in your Preſence, Sir, withou [...] your Buſineſs requir'd it; and I hope I ſhall alway [...] know my Place.
Well, ſays he, my Buſineſs does require it ſome times, and I have a Mind you ſhould ſtay to hear what I have to ſay to you.
I ſtood all confounded, and began to tremble, and the more when he took me by the Hand; for now no Soul was near us.
My Siſter Davers, ſaid he (and ſeem'd, I thought, to-be as much at a Loſs for Words as I) would have had you live with her; but ſhe would not do for you what I am reſolved to do, if you continue faithful and obliging. What ſay'ſt thou, my Girl? ſaid he, with ſome Eagerneſs; hadſt thou not rather ſtay with me, than go to my Siſter Davers? He look'd ſo, as fill'd me with Affrightment; I don't know how; wildly, I thought.
I ſaid, when I could ſpeak, Your Honour will for⯑give me; but as you have no Lady for me to wait upon, and my good Lady has been now dead this Twelvemonth, I had rather, if it would not diſpleaſe you, wait upon Lady Davers, becauſe —
I was proceeding, and he ſaid a little haſtily—Be⯑cauſe you are a little Fool, and know not what's good for yourſelf. I tell you, I will make a Gentlewoman of you, if you be obliging, and don't ſtand in your own Light, and ſo ſaying, he put his Arm about me, and kiſs'd me!
Now you will ſay, all his Wickedneſs appear'd plainly. I ſtruggled, and trembled, and was ſo be⯑numb'd with Terror, that I ſunk down, not in a Fit, and yet not myſelf; and I found myſelf in his Arms, quite void of Strength; and he kiſſed me two or three times, with frightful Eagerneſs.—At laſt I burſt from him, and was getting out of the Summer-houſe; but he held me back, and ſhut the Door.
[19]I would have given my Life for a Farthing. And he ſaid, I'll do you no Harm, Pamela; don't be afraid of me, I ſaid, I won't ſtay. You won't, Huſſy! ſaid he: Do you know whom you ſpeak to? I loſt all Fear, and all Reſpect, and ſaid, Yes, I do, Sir, too well! — Well may I forget that I am your Servant, when you forget what belongs to a Maſter.
I ſobb'd and cry'd moſt ſadly. What a fooliſh Huſſy you are! ſaid he; have I done you any Harm? —Yes, Sir, ſaid I, the greateſt Harm in the World: You have taught me to forget myſelf, and what be⯑longs to me, and have leſſen'd the Diſtance that Fortune has made between us, by demeaning your⯑ſelf, to be ſo free to a poor Servant. Yet, Sir, I will be bold to ſay, I am honeſt, tho' poor: And if you was a Prince, I would not be otherwiſe.
He was angry, and ſaid, Who would have you otherwiſe, you fooliſh Slut! Ceaſe your Blubbering. I own I have demean'd myſelf; but it was only to try you: If you can keep this Matter ſecret, you'll give me the better Opinion of your Prudence; and here's ſomething, ſaid he, putting ſome Gold in my Hand, to make you Amends for the Fright I put you in. Go, take a Walk in the Garden, and don't go in till your Blubbering is over: And I charge you ſay nothing of what has paſt, and all ſhall be well, and I'll forgive you.
I won't take the Money, indeed, Sir, ſaid I; poor as I am: I won't take it. For, to ſay Truth, I thought it look'd like taking Earneſt; and ſo I put it upon the Bench; and as he ſeemed vex'd and confus'd at what he had done, I took the Opportunity to open the Door, and went out of the Summer-houſe.
He called to me, and ſaid, Be ſecret, I charge you, Pamela; and don't go in yet, as I told you.
O how poor and mean muſt thoſe Actions be, and how little muſt they make the beſt of Gentle⯑men [20] look, when they offer ſuch things as are un⯑worthy of themſelves, and put it into the Power of their Inferiors to be greater than they!
I took a Turn or two in the Garden, but in Sight of the Houſe for fear of the worſt; and breathed upon my Hand to dry my Eyes, becauſe I would not be too diſobedient. My next ſhall tell you more.
Pray for me, my dear Father and Mother; and don't be angry. I have not yet run away from this Houſe, ſo late my Comfort and Delight, but now my Terror and Anguiſh. I am forc'd to break off haſtily,
LETTER XII.
WELL, I will now proceed with my ſad Story. And ſo, after I had dry'd my Eyes, I went in, and began to ruminate with myſelf what I had beſt to do. Sometimes I thought I would leave the Houſe, and go to the next Town, and wait an Opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a Loſs to reſolve whether to take away the Things he had given me or no, and how to take them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only go with the Cloaths on my Back; but then I had two Miles and a half, and a By-way to the Town; and being pretty well dreſs'd, I might come to ſome Harm, almoſt as bad as what I would run away from; and then may-be, thought I, it will be re⯑ported, I have ſtolen ſomething, and ſo was forc'd to run away; and to carry a bad Name back with me to my dear Parents, would be a ſad thing in⯑deed! [21] —O how I wiſh'd for my grey Ruſſet again, and my poor honeſt Dreſs, with which you fitted me out, (and hard enough too you had to do it!) for going to this Place, when I was not twelve Years old, in my good Lady's Days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs. Jervis, and taking her Advice, and only feared his Command to be ſe⯑cret; for, thought I, he may be aſhamed of his Actions, and never attempt the like again: And as poor Mrs. Jervis depended upon him, thro' Misfortunes that had attended her, I thought it would be a ſad thing to bring his Diſpleaſure upon her for my ſake.
In this Quandary, now conſidering, now crying, and not knowing what to do, I paſs'd the Time in my Chamber till Evening; when deſiring to be ex⯑cuſed going to Supper, Mrs. Jervis came up to me; and ſaid, Why muſt I ſup without you, Pamela? Come, I ſee you are troubled at ſomething; tell me what is the Matter.
I begg'd I might be permitted to lie with her on Nights; for I was afraid of Spirits, and they would not hurt ſuch a good Perſon as ſhe. That was a ſilly Excuſe, ſhe ſaid; for why was you not afraid of Spirits before?—(Indeed I did not think of that). But you ſhall be my Bed-fellow with all my Heart, added ſhe, let your Reaſon be what it will; only come down to Supper. I begg'd to be excus'd; for, ſaid I, I have been crying ſo, that it will be taken Notice of by my Fellow-ſervants; and I will hide nothing from you, Mrs. Jervis, when we are a-bed.
She was ſo good to indulge me, and went down to Supper; but made more Haſte to come up to-bed; and told the Servants, that I ſhould lie with her, becauſe ſhe could not reſt well, and ſhe would [22] get me to read her to ſleep; for ſhe knew I lov'd reading, as ſhe ſaid.
When we were alone, I told her all that had paſſed; for I thought, though he had bid me not, yet if he ſhould come to know I had told, it would be no worſe; for to keep a Secret of ſuch a Na⯑ture, would be, as I apprehended, to deprive my⯑ſelf of the good Advice which I never wanted more; and might encourage him to think I did not reſent it as I ought, and would keep worſe Secrets, and ſo make him do worſe by me. Was I right, my dear Mother?
Mrs. Jervis could not help mingling Tears with my Tears; for I cry'd all the Time I told her the Story, and begg'd her to adviſe me what to do; and I ſhew'd her my dear Father's two Letters, and ſhe praiſed the Honeſty and Inditing of them, and ſaid pleaſing Things to me of you both. But ſhe begg'd I would not think of leaving my Service; for, ſays ſhe, in all Likelihood, you behav'd ſo virtuouſly, that he will be aſham'd of what he has done, and never offer the like to you again: Though, my dear Pamela, ſaid ſhe, I fear more for your Prettineſs than for any thing elſe; becauſe the beſt Man in the Land might love you; ſo ſhe was pleaſed to ſay. She ſaid ſhe wiſh'd it was in her Power to live independent; that then ſhe would take a little private Houſe, and I ſhould live with her like her Daughter.
And ſo, as you order'd me to take her Advice, I reſolved to tarry to ſee how Things went, without he was to turn me away; altho', in your firſt Letter, you order'd me to come away the Moment I had any Reaſon to be apprehenſive. So, dear Father and Mother, it is not Diſobedience, I hope, that I ſtay; for I could not expect a Bleſſing, or the good Fruits of your Prayers for me, if I was diſobedient.
[23]All the next Day I was very ſad, and began to write my long Letter. He ſaw me writing, and ſaid (as I mention'd) to Mrs. Jervis, That Girl is always ſcribbling; methinks ſhe might find ſome⯑thing elſe to do; or to that purpoſe. And when I had finiſh'd my Letter, I put it under the Toilet, in my late Lady's Dreſſing-room, whither nobody comes but myſelf and Mrs. Jervis, beſides my Ma⯑ſter; but when I came up again to ſeal it up, to my great Concern, it was gone; and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it; and nobody knew of my Maſter's having been near the Place in the Time; ſo I have been ſadly troubled about it: But Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks he has it, ſome how or other; and he appears croſs and angry, and ſeems to ſhun me, as much as he ſaid I did him. It had better be ſo than worſe!
But he has order'd Mrs. Jervis to bid me not paſs ſo much Time in writing; which is a poor Matter for ſuch a Gentleman as he to take Notice of, as I am not idle other-ways, if he did not reſent what he thought I wrote upon. And this has no very good Look.
But I am a good deal eaſier ſince I lie with Mrs. Jervis; tho' after all, the Fears I live in on one Side, and his Frowning and Diſpleaſure at what I do on the other, make me more miſerable than enough.
O that I had never left my Rags and my Poverty, to be thus expos'd to Temptations on one hand, or Diſguſts on the other! How happy was I a while ago! How contrary now!—Pity and pray for
LETTER XIII.
[24]OUR Hearts bleed for your Diſtreſs, and the Temptations you are tried with. You have our hourly Prayers; and we would have you flee this evil Great Houſe and Man, if you find he re⯑news his Attempts. You ought to have done it at firſt, had you nor had Mrs. Jervis to adviſe with. We can find no Fault in your Conduct hitherto: But it makes our Hearts ake for fear of the worſt. O my Child! Temptations are ſore Things; but yet, without them, we know not ourſelves, nor what we are able to do.
Your Temptations are very great; for you have Riches, Youth, and a fine Gentleman, as the World reckons him, to withſtand; but how great will be your Honour to withſtand them! And when we conſider your paſt Conduct, and your virtuous Education, and that you have been bred to be more aſham'd of Diſhoneſty than Poverty, we truſt in God, that He will enable you to overcome. Yet, as we can't ſee but your Life muſt be a Burden to you, through the great Apprehenſions always upon you; and that it may be preſumptious to truſt: too much to your own Strength; and that you are but very young; and the Devil may put into his Head to uſe ſome Stratagem, of which great Men are full, to decoy you; I think you had better come home to ſhare our Poverty with Safety, than to live with ſo much Diſ⯑content in a Plenty, that itſelf may be dangerous. God direct you for the beſt! While you have Mrs. Jervis for an Adviſer, and Bedſellow, (and, O my dear Child, that was prudently done of you!) we are [25] eaſier than we ſhould be; and ſo committing you to the Divine Protection, remain
LETTER XIV.
MRS. Jervis and I have liv'd very comfortably together for this Fortnight paſt; for my Maſter was all that time at his Lincolnſhire Eſtate, and at his Siſter's the Lady Davers. But he came home Yeſter⯑day. He had ſome Talk with Mrs. Jervis ſoon after he came home; and moſtly about me. He ſaid to her, it ſeems, Well, Mrs. Jervis, I know Pamela has your good Word; but do you think her of any Uſe in the Family? She told me, ſhe was ſurpris'd at the Queſtion; but ſaid, That I was one of the moſt virtuous and induſtrious young Creatures that ever ſhe knew. Why that Word virtuous, ſaid he, I pray you? Was there any Reaſon to ſuppoſe her other⯑wiſe? Or has any body taken it into their Heads to try her? — I wonder, Sir, ſays ſhe, you aſk ſuch a Queſtion! Who dare offer any thing to her in ſuch an orderly and well-govern'd Houſe as yours, and under a Maſter of ſo good a Character for Virtue and Honour? Your Servant, Mrs. Jervis, ſays he, for your good Opinion; but pray, if any body did, do you think Pamela would let you know it? Why, Sir, ſaid ſhe, ſhe is a poor innocent young Creature, and I believe has ſo much Confidence in me, that ſhe would take my Advice as ſoon as ſhe would her Mother's. Innocent! again; and virtuous, I warrant! [26] Well, Mrs. Jervis, you abound with your Epithets; but I take her to be an artful young Baggage; and had I a young handſome Butler or Steward, ſhe'd ſoon make her Market of one of them, if ſhe thought it worth while to ſnap at him for a Huſband. Alack-a-day, Sir, ſaid ſhe, 'tis early Days with Pa⯑mela; and ſhe does not yet think of a Huſband, I dare ſay: And your Steward and Butler are both Men in Years, and think nothing of the Matter No, ſaid he, if they were younger, they'd have more Wit than to think of ſuch a Girl. I'll tell you my Mind of her, Mrs. Jervis: I don't think this ſame Favourite of yours ſo very artleſs a Girl, as you imagine. I am not to diſpute with your Honour, ſaid Mrs. Jervis; but I dare ſay, if the Men will let her alone, ſhe'll never trouble herſelf about them. Why, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid he, are there any Men that will not let her alone, that you know of? No, indeed, Sir, ſaid ſhe; ſhe keeps herſelf ſo much to herſelf, and yet behaves ſo prudently, that they all eſteem her, and ſhew her as great Reſpect, as if ſhe was a Gentlewoman born.
Ay, ſays he, that's her Art, that I was ſpeaking of: But let me tell you, the Girl has Vanity and Conceit, and Pride too, or I am miſtaken; and, per⯑haps, I could give you an Inſtance of it. Sir, ſaid ſhe, you can ſee further than ſuch a poor ſilly Wo⯑man as I; but I never ſaw any thing but Inno⯑cence in her.—And Virtue too, I'll warrant ye! ſaid he. But ſuppoſe I could give you an Inſtance, where ſhe has talk'd a little too freely of the Kindneſſes that have been ſhew'd her from a certain Quarter; and has had the Vanity to impute a few kind Words, utter'd in mere Compaſſion to her Youth and Cir⯑cumſtances, into a Deſign upon her, and even dar'd to make free with Names that ſhe ought never to mention but with Reverence and Gratitude; what [27] would you ſay to that?—Say, Sir! ſaid ſhe, I cannot tell what to ſay. But I hope Pamela incapable of ſuch Ingratitude.
Well, no more of this ſilly Girl, ſays he; you may only adviſe her, as you are her Friend, not to give herſelf too much Licence upon the Favours ſhe meets with; and if ſhe ſtays here, that ſhe will not write the Affairs of my Family purely for an Exerciſe to her Pen and her Invention. I tell you, ſhe is a ſubtle artful Gypſey, and Time will ſhew it you.
Was ever the like heard, my dear Father and Mo⯑ther? It is plain he did not expect to meet with ſuch a Repulſe, and miſtruſts that I have told Mrs. Jer⯑vis, and has my long Letter too, that I intended for you; and ſo is vex'd to the Heart. But I can't help it. I had better be thought artful and ſubtle, than be ſo, in his Senſe; and as light as he makes of the Words Virtue and Innocence in me, he would have made a leſs angry Conſtruction, had I leſs deſerved that he ſhould do ſo; for then, may-be, my Crime would have been my Virtue with him; naughty Gen⯑tleman as he is is!—
I will ſoon write again; but muſt now end with ſaying, That I am, and ſhall always be,
LETTER XV.
I Broke off abruptly my laſt Letter; for I fear'd he was coming; and ſo it happen'd. I put the Let⯑ter into my Boſom, and took up my Work, which lay by me; but I had ſo little of the Artful, as he [28] called it, that I look'd as confuſed, as if I had been doing ſome great Harm.
Sit ſtill, Pamela, ſaid he, and mind your Work, for all me.—You don't tell me I am welcome home after my Journey to Lincolnſhire. It would be hard, Sir, ſaid I, if you was not always welcome to your Honour's own Houſe.
I would have gone; but he ſaid, Don't run away, I tell you. I have a Word or two to ſay to you. Good Sirs, how my Heart went pit-a-pat! When I was a little kind to you, ſaid he, in the Summer-houſe, and you carry'd yourſelf ſo fooliſhly upon it, as if I had intended to do you great Harm, did I not tell you, you ſhould take no Notice of what paſs'd, to any Creature? And yet you have made a common Talk of the Matter, not conſidering either my Re⯑putation, or your own.—I made a common Talk of it, Sir! ſaid I: I have nobody to talk to, hardly.
He interrupted me, and ſaid. Hardly! you little Equivocator! what do you mean by hardly? Let me ask you, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis for one? Pray your Honour, ſaid I, all in Agitation, let me go down; for 'tis not for me to hold an Argument with your Honour. Equivocator, again! ſaid he, and took my Hand, what do you talk of an Argu⯑ment? Is it holding an Argument with me, to anſwer a plain Queſtion? Anſwer me what I ask'd. O good Sir, ſaid I, let me beg you will not urge me further, for fear I forget myſelf again, and be ſaucy.
Anſwer me then, I bid you, ſays he, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis? It will be ſaucy in you, if you don't anſwer me directly to what I ask. Sir, ſaid I, and fain would have pulled my Hand away, perhaps I ſhould be for anſwering you by another Queſtion, and that would not become me. What is it you would ſay? replies be, ſpeak out.
[29]Then, Sir, ſaid I, why ſhould your Honour be ſo angry I ſhould tell Mrs. Jervis, or any body elſe, what paſſed, if you intended no Harm?
Well ſaid, pretty Innocent and Artleſs! as Mrs. Jervis calls you, ſaid he; and is it thus you taunt and retort upon me, inſolent as you are! But ſtill I will be anſwered directly to my Queſtion? Why then, Sir, ſaid I, I will not tell a Lie for the World: I did tell Mrs. Jervis; for my Heart was almoſt broken; but I open'd not my Mouth to any other. Very well, Bold-face, ſaid he, and Equivocator again! You did not open your Mouth to any other; but did you not write to ſome other? Why now, and pleaſe your Honour, ſaid I, (for I was quite courageous juſt then) you could not have aſked me this Queſtion if you had not taken from me my Letter to my Father and Mother, in which I own I had broken my Mind freely to them, and aſked their Advice, and poured forth my Griefs!
And ſo I am to be expoſed, am I, ſaid he, in my Houſe, and out of my Houſe, to the whole World, by ſuch a Saucebox as you? No, good, Sir, ſaid I, and I hope your Honour won't be angry with me; it is not I that expoſe you, if I ſay nothing but the Truth. So, taunting again! Aſſurance as you are! ſaid he: I will not be thus talk'd to!
Pray, Sir, ſaid I, whom can a poor Girl take Ad⯑vice of, if it muſt not be of her Father and Mo⯑ther, and ſuch a good Woman as Mrs. Jervis, who, for her Sex-ſake, ſhould give it me when aſked! Inſolence! ſaid he, and ſtamp'd with his Foot, Am I to be queſtion'd thus by ſuch an one as you? I fell down on my Knees, and ſaid, For Heaven's ſake, your Honour, pity a poor Creature, that knows nothing of her Duty, but how to cheriſh her Vir⯑tue and good Name: I have nothing elſe to truſt to: and tho' poor and friendleſs here, yet I have al⯑ways [30] been taught to value Honeſty above my Life. Here's ado with your Honeſty, ſaid he, fooliſh Girl! Is it not one Part of Honeſty, to be dutiful and grate⯑ful to your Maſter, do you think? Indeed, Sir, ſaid I, it is impoſſible I ſhould be ingrateful to your Honour, or diſobedient, or deſerve the Names of Bold-face and Inſolent, which you call me, but when your Com⯑mands are contrary to that firſt Duty, which ſhall ever be the Principle of my Life!
He ſeem'd to be moved, and roſe up, and walk'd into the great Chamber two or three Turns, leaving me on my Knees; and I threw my Apron over my Face, and laid my Head on a Chair, and cry'd as if my Heart would break, having no Power to ſtir.
At laſt he came in again, but, alas! with Miſ⯑chief in his Heart! and raiſing me up, he ſaid, Riſe, Pamela, riſe; you are your own Enemy. Your perverſe Folly will be your Ruin: I tell you this, that I am very much diſpleaſed with the Freedoms you have taken with my Name to my Houſe-keeper, as alſo to your Father and Mother; and you may as well have real Cauſe to take theſe Freedoms with me, as to make my Name ſuffer for imaginary ones. And ſaying ſo, he offer'd to take me on his Knee, with ſome Force. O how I was terrify'd! I ſaid, like as I had read in a Book a Night or two before, Angels, and Saints, and all the Hoſt of Heaven, de⯑fend me! And may I never ſurvive one Moment, that fatal one in which I ſhall forfeit my Innocence. Pretty Fool! ſaid he, how will you forfeit your In⯑nocence, if you are oblig'd to yield to a Force you cannot withſtand? Be eaſy, ſaid he; for let the worſt happen that can, you'll have the Merit, and I the Blame; and it will be a good Subject for Letters to your Father and Mother, and a Tale into the Bargain for Mrs. Jervis.
[31]He by Force kiſſed my Neck and Lips; and ſaid, Who ever blamed Lucretia, but the Raviſher only? And I am content to take all the Blame upon me; as I have already borne too great a Share for what I have deſerv'd. May I, ſaid I, Lucretia like, juſtify myſelf with my Death, if I am uſed barbarouſly? O my good Girl! ſaid he, tauntingly, you are well read, I ſee; and we ſhall make out between us, be⯑fore we have done, a pretty Story in Romance, I warrant ye.
He then put his Hand in my Boſom, and the In⯑dignation gave me double Strength, and I got looſe from him by a ſudden Spring, and ran out of the Room; and the next Chamber being open, I made ſhift to get into it, and threw-to the Door, and the Key being on the Inſide, it locked; but he follow'd me ſo cloſe, he got hold of my Gown, and tore a Piece off, which hung without the Door.
I juſt remember I got into the Room; for I knew nothing further of the Matter till afterwards; for I fell into a Fit with my Fright and Terror, and there I lay, till he, as I ſuppoſe, looking through the Key-hole, ſpy'd me lying all along upon the Floor, ſtretch'd out at my Length; and then he call'd Mrs. Jervis to me, who, by his Aſſiſtance, burſting open the Door, he went away, ſeeing me coming to myſelf; and bid her ſay nothing of the Matter, if ſhe was wiſe.
Poor Mrs. Jervis thought it was worſe, and cry'd over me like as if ſhe was my Mother; and I was two Hours before I came to myſelf; and juſt as I got a little up on my Feet, he coming in, I went away again with the Terror; and ſo he withdrew: But he ſtaid in the next Room to let nobody come near us, that his foul Proceedings might not be known.
[32]Mrs. Jervis gave me her Smelling-bottle, and had cut my Laces, and far me in a great Chair, and he call'd her to him: How is the Girl? ſaid he: I ne⯑ver ſaw ſuch a Fool in my Life. I did nothing at all to her. Mrs. Jervis could not ſpeak for crying. So he ſaid, She has told you, it ſeems, that I was kind to her in the Summer-houſe, tho' I'll aſſure you, I was quite innocent then as well as now, and I de⯑ſire you to keep this Matter to yourſelf, and let me not be nam'd in it.
O, Sir, ſaid ſhe, for your Honour's ſake, and for Chriſt's ſake— But he would not hear her, and ſaid — For your own ſake, I tell you, Mrs. Jervis, ſay not a Word more. I have done her no Harm. And I won't have her ſtay in my Houſe; prating, perverſe Fool, as ſhe is! But ſince ſhe is ſo apt to fall into Fits, or at leaſt pretend to do ſo, prepare her to ſee me To-morrow after Dinner, in my Mother's Cloſet, and do you be with her, and you ſhall hear what paſſes between us.
And ſo he went out in a Pet, and order'd his Cha⯑riot and Four to be got ready, and went a Viſiting ſomewhere.
Mrs. Jervis then came to me, and I told her all that had happen'd, and ſaid I was reſolv'd not to ſtay in the Houſe: And ſhe ſaying, He ſeem'd to threaten as much; I ſaid, I am glad of that; then I ſhall be eaſy. So ſhe told me all be had ſaid to her, as I have mention'd above.
Mrs. Jervis is very loth I ſhould go; and yet, poor Woman! ſhe begins to be afraid for herſelf; but would not have me ruin'd for the World. She ſays, To be ſure he means no Good; but may-be, now he ſees me ſo reſolute, he will give over all Attempts: And that I ſhall better know what to do after To-morrow, when I am to appear before a very bad Judge, I doubt.
[33]O how I dread this To-morrow's Appearance! But be aſſured, my dear Parents, of the Honeſty of your poor Child: As I am ſure I am of your Prayers for
O this frightful To-morrow! how I dread it!
LETTER XVI.
I Know you longed to hear from me ſoon. I ſend as ſoon as I could.
Well, you may believe how uneaſily I paſſed the Time, till his appointed Hour came. Every Minute, as it grew nearer, my Terrors increaſed; and ſome⯑times I had great Courage, and ſometimes none at all; and I thought I ſhould faint when it came to the Time my Maſter had dined. I could neither eat nor drink for my part; and do what I could, my Eyes were ſwell'd with crying.
At laſt he went up to the Cloſet, which was my good Lady's Dreſſing-room; a Room I once lov'd, but then as much hated.
Don't your Heart ake for me? — I am ſure mine flutter'd about like a new-caught Bird in a Cage. O Pamela, ſaid I to myſelf, why art thou ſo fooliſh and fearful! Thou haſt done no Harm! What, if thou feareſt an unjuſt Judge, when thou art innocent, wouldſt thou do before a juſt one, if thou wert guilty? Have Courage, Pamela, thou knoweſt the worſt! And how eaſy a Choice Poverty and Honeſty is, rather than Plenty and Wickedneſs?
[34]So I chear'd myſelf; but yet my poor Heart ſunk, and my Spirits were quite broken. Every thing that ſtirred, I thought was to call me to my Account. I dreaded it, and yet I wiſhed it to come.
Well, at laſt he rung the Bell; O, thought I, that it was my Paſſing-bell! Mrs. Jervis went up, with a full Heart enough, poor good Woman! He ſaid, Where's Pamela? Let her come up, and do you come with her. She came to me: I was ready to come with my Feet, but my Heart was with my dear Father and Mother, wiſhing to ſhare your Poverty and Happineſs. But I went.
O how can wicked Men ſeem ſo ſteady and un⯑touch'd, with ſuch black Hearts, while poor Inno⯑cents look like Malefactors before them!
He look'd ſo ſtern, that my Heart failed me, and I wiſh'd myſelf any-where but there, tho' I had be⯑fore been ſummoning up all my Courage. Good Heaven, ſaid I to myſelf, give me Courage to ſtand before this naughty Maſter! O ſoften him, or har⯑den me!
Come in, Fool, ſaid he, angrily, as ſoon as he ſaw me (and ſnatch'd my Hand with a Pull); you may well be aſhamed to ſee me, after your Noiſe and Nonſenſe, and expoſing me as you have done. I aſham'd to ſee you! thought I: Very pretty in⯑deed! — But I ſaid nothing.
Mrs. Jervis, ſaid he, here you are both together, Do you ſit down; but let her ſtand if ſhe will: Ay thought I, if I can; for my Knees beat one againſt another. Did you not think, when you ſaw the Girl in the Way you found her in, that I had given her the greateſt Occaſion that could poſſibly be given any Woman? And that I had actually ruined her, as ſhe calls it? Tell me, could you think any thing leſs? Indeed, ſay'd ſhe, I fear'd ſo at firſt. Has ſhe told you what I did to her, and all I did to her, to [35] occaſion all this Folly, by which my Reputation might have ſuffer'd in your Opinion, and in that of all the Family?—Inform me, what has ſhe told you?
She was a little too much frighted, as ſhe owned afterwards, at his Sternneſs, and ſaid. Indeed ſhe told me you only pulled her on your Knee, and kiſſed her.
Then I plucked up my Spirit a little. Only! Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I; and was not that enough to ſhew me what I had to fear? When a Maſter of his Honour's Degree demeans himſelf to be ſo free as that to ſuch a poor Servant as me, what is the next to be expected?— But your Honour went fur⯑ther, ſo you did; and threaten'd me what you would do, and talk'd of Lucretia, and her hard Fate.—Your Honour knows you went too far for a Maſter to a Servant, or even to his Equal; and I cannot bear it. So I fell a crying moſt ſadly.
Mrs. Jervis began to excuſe me, and to beg he would pity a poor Maiden, that had ſuch a Value for her Reputation. He ſaid, I ſpeak it to her Face, I think her very pretty, and I thought her humble, and one that would not grow upon my Favours, or the Notice I took of her, but I abhor the Thought of forcing her to any thing. I know myſelf better, ſaid he, and what, belongs to me: And to be ſure I have enough demean'd myſelf to take Notice of ſuch a one as ſhe; but I was bewitch'd by her, I think, to be freer than became me; tho' I had no Intention to carry the Jeſt farther.
What poor Stuff was all this, my dear Mother, from a Man of his Senſe! But ſee how a bad Cauſe and bad Actions confound the greateſt Wits! — It gave me a little more Courage then; for Innocence, I find, in a weak mind, has many Advantages over Guilt, with all its Riches and Wiſdom.
[36]So I ſaid, Your Honour may call this Jeſt or Sport, or what you pleaſe; but indeed, Sir, it is not a Jeſt that becomes the Diſtance between a Maſter and a Servant. Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis? ſaid he: Do you hear the Pertneſs of the Creature? I had a good deal of this Sort before in the Summer-houſe, and Yeſterday too, which made me rougher with her than perhaps I had otherwiſe been.
Says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela, don't be pert to his Honour? You ſhould know your Diſtance; you ſee his Honour was only in Jeſt. — O dear Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, don't you blame me too. It is very difficult to keep one's Diſtance to the greateſt of Men, when they won't keep it themſelves to their meaneſt Ser⯑vants.
See again, ſaid he; could you believe this of the young Baggage, if you had not heard it? Good your Honour, ſaid the well-meaning Gentlewoman, pity and forgive the poor Girl; ſhe is but a Girl, and her Virtue is very dear to her; and I will pawn my Life for her, ſhe will never be pert to your Honour, if you'll be ſo good as to moleſt her no more, nor frighten her again. Said ſhe, You ſee how, by her Fit, ſhe was in Terror; ſhe could not help it; and tho' your Honour intended her no Harm, yet the Apprehenſion was almoſt Death to her: And I had much ado to bring her to herſelf again. O the little Hypocrite! ſaid he; ſhe has all the Arts of her Sex; they are born with her; and I told you a-while ago, you did not know her. But, ſaid he, this was not the Reaſon principally of my calling you before me both together: I find I am likely to ſuffer in my Reputation by the Perverſeneſs and Folly of this Girl. She has told you all, and perhaps more than all; nay, I make no Doubt of it; and ſhe has writ⯑ten Letters (for I find ſhe is a mighty Letter-writer!) to her Father and Mother, and others, as far as I [37] know; in which ſhe makes herſelf an Angel of Light, and me, her kind Maſter and Benefactor, a Devil incarnate.—(O how People will ſometimes, thought I, call themſelves by their right Names!—) And all this I won't bear; and ſo I am reſolv'd ſhe ſhall re⯑turn to the Diſtreſſes and Poverty ſhe was taken from; and let her take care how ſhe uſes my Name with Freedom, when ſhe is gone from me.
I was brighten'd up at once with theſe welcome Words: And I threw myſelf upon my Knees at his Feet, with a moſt ſincere, glad Heart, and I ſaid, May your Honour be for ever bleſſed for your Reſo⯑lution! Now I ſhall be happy. And permit me, on my bended Knees, to thank you for all the Bene⯑fits and Favours you have heap'd upon me; for the Opportunities I have had of Improvement and Learn⯑ing, thro' my good Lady's Means, and yours. I will now forget all your Honour has offer'd to me: And I promiſe you, that I will never take your Name in my Lips, but with Reverence and Grati⯑tude: And ſo God Almighty bleſs your Honour, for ever and ever, Amen!
Then riſing from my Knees, I went away with another-guiſe ſort of Heart than I came into his Pre⯑ſence with: And ſo I fell to writing this Letter. And thus all is happily over.
And now, my deareſt Father and Mother, expect to ſee ſoon your poor Daughter, with an humble and dutiful Mind return'd to you: And don't fear but I know how to be happy with you as ever: For I will lie in the Loft, as I uſed to do; and pray let the little Bed be got ready; and I have a little Money, which will buy me a Suit of Cloaths, fitter for my Condition than what I have; and I will get Mrs. Mumford to help me to ſome Needle-work; and fear not that I ſhall be a Burden to you, if my Health continues; and I know I ſhall be bleſſed, [38] if not for my own ſake, for both your ſakes, who have, in all your Trials and Misfortunes, preſerved ſo much Integrity, as makes every body ſpeak well of you both. But I hope he will let good Mrs. Jer⯑vis give me a Character, for fear it ſhould be thought I was turn'd away for Diſhoneſty.
And ſo, my dear Parents, may you be bleſt for me, and I for you! And I will always pray for my Maſter and Mrs. Jervis. So good Night; for it is late, and I ſhall be ſoon called to-bed.
I hope Mrs. Jervis is not angry with me, becauſe ſhe has not called me to Supper with her; tho' I could eat nothing if ſhe had. But I make no Doubt I ſhall ſleep purely To-night, and dream that I am with you, in my dear, dear, happy Loft once more.
So good Night again, my dear Father and Mo⯑ther, ſays
May-hap I mayn't come this Week, becauſe I muſt get up the Linen, and leave in Order every thing belonging to my Place. So ſend me a Line if you can, to let me know if I ſhall be wel⯑come, by John, who'll call for it as he returns. But ſay nothing of my coming away to him, as yet: For it will be ſaid I blab every thing.
LETTER XVII.
WELCOME, welcome, ten times welcome, ſhall you be to us; for you come to us inno⯑cent, and happy, and honeſt; and you are the Staff [39] of our old Age, and our Comfort too. And tho' we cannot do for you as we would, yet we doubt not we ſhall live comfortably together, and what with my diligent Labour, and your poor Mother's Spinning, and your Needle-work, I make no Doubt we ſhall live better and better. Only your poor Mother's Eyes begin to fail her; tho' I bleſs God, I am as ſtrong, and able, and willing to labour as ever; and O my dear Child, your Virtue has made me, I think, ſtronger and better than I was before. What bleſſed Things are Trials and Temptations to us, when they be overcome!
But I am thinking about thoſe ſame four Guineas: I think you ſhould give them back again to your Ma⯑ſter; and yet I have broke them. Alas! I have only three left; but I will borrow it, if I can, Part upon my Wages, and Part of Mrs. Mumford, and ſend it to you, that you may return it, againſt John comes next, if he comes again, before you.
I want to know how you come. I fancy honeſt John will be glad to bear you Company Part of the Way, if your Maſter is not ſo croſs as to forbid him. And if I know time enough, your Mother will go one five Miles, and I will go ten on the Way, or till I meet you, as far as one Holiday will go; for that I can get Leave for: And we ſhall receive you with more Pleaſure than we had at your Birth, when all the worſt was over; or than we ever had in our Lives.
And ſo God bleſs you, till the happy Time comes! ſay both your Mother and I; which is all at preſent, from
LETTER XVIII.
[40]I Thank you a thouſand times for your Goodneſs to me, expreſs'd in your laſt Letter. I now long to get my Buſineſs done, and come to my new-old Lot, again, as I may call it. I have been quite ano⯑ther thing ſince my Maſter has turned me off; and as I ſhall come to you an honeſt Daughter, what Pleaſure it is to what I ſhould have had, if I could not have ſeen you but as a guilty one! Well, my writing Time will ſoon be over, and ſo I will make uſe of it now, and tell you all that has happened ſince my laſt Letter.
I wonder'd Mrs. Jervis did not call me to ſup with her, and fear'd ſhe was angry; and when I had finiſh'd my Letter, I long'd for her coming to Bed. At laſt ſhe came up, but ſeem'd ſhy and reſerv'd; and I ſaid, O my dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to ſee you: You are not angry with me, I hope. She ſaid ſhe was ſorry Things had gone ſo far; and that ſhe had a great deal of Talk with my Maſter after I was gone; that he ſeem'd mov'd at what I ſaid, and at my falling on my Knees to him, and my Prayer for him, at my going away. He ſaid, I was a ſtrange Girl; he knew not what to make of me: And is ſhe gone? ſaid he: I intended to ſay ſomething elſe to her, but ſhe behav'd ſo oddly, that I had not Power to ſtop her. She aſk'd, If ſhe ſhould call me again? He ſaid, Yes; and then, No, let her go; it is beſt for her and me too, that ſhe ſhall go now I have given her Warn⯑ing. But where ſhe had it, I can't tell; but I never met with the Fellow of her in my Life, at any Age. She ſaid, he had order'd her not to tell me all: But ſhe believ'd he never would offer any thing to me [41] again, and I might ſtay, ſhe fanſy'd, if I would beg it as a Favour; tho' ſhe was not ſure neither.
I ſtay! dear Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I; why 'tis the beſt News that could have come to me, that he will let me go. I do nothing but long to go back again to my Poverty and Diſtreſs, as he ſaid I ſhould; for, tho' I am ſure of the Poverty, I ſhall not have half the Diſtreſs I have had for ſome Months paſt, I'll aſſure you.
Mrs. Jervis, dear good Soul! wept over me, and ſaid, Well, well, Pamela, I did not think I had ſhew'd ſo little Love to you, as that you ſhould ex⯑preſs ſo much Joy to leave me. I am ſure I never had a Child half ſo dear to me as you.
I wept to hear her ſo good to me, as indeed ſhe has always been; and ſaid, What would you have me to do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to my own Father and Mother, and to leave you is the chief Con⯑cern I have at quitting this Place; but I am ſure it is certain Ruin if I ſtay. After ſuch Offers, and ſuch Threatenings, and his comparing himſelf to a wicked Raviſher, in the very Time of his laſt Offer; and making a Jeſt of me, that we ſhould make a pretty Story in Romance; can I ſtay, and be ſafe? Has he not demean'd himſelf twice? And it behoves me to beware of the third time, for fear he ſhould lay his Snares ſurer; for may-hap he did not expect a poor Servant would reſiſt her Maſter ſo much. And muſt it not be look'd upon as a ſort of Warrant for ſuch Actions, if I ſtay after this? For I think, when one of our Sex finds ſhe is attempted, it is an Encouragement to a Perſon to proceed, if one puts one's ſelf in the Way of it, when one can help it; and it ſhews one can forgive what in ſhort, ought not to be forgiven: Which is no ſmall Countenance to foul Actions, I'll aſſure you.
[42]She hugg'd me to her, and ſaid, I'll aſſure you! Pretty-face, where gotteſt thou all thy Knowledge, and thy good Notions, at theſe Years? Thou art a Miracle for thy Age, and I ſhall always love thee.— But, do you reſolve to leave us, Pamela?
Yes, my dear Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I; for, as Matters ſtand, how can I do otherwiſe?—But I'll do all the Duties of my Place firſt, if I may. And hope you'll give me a Character as to my Honeſty, that it may not be thought I was turn'd away for any Harm. Ay, that I will, ſaid ſhe; I will give thee ſuch a Character as ne⯑ver Girl at thy Years deſerv'd. And, I am ſure, ſaid I, I will always love and honour you, as my third beſt Friend, where-ever I go, or whatever becomes of me.
And ſo we went to Bed, and I never wak'd 'till 'twas Time to riſe; which I did, as blythe as a Bird, and went about my Buſineſs with great Pleaſure.
But I believe my Maſter is fearfully angry with me; for he paſs'd by me two or three times, and would not ſpeak to me; and towards Evening he met me in the Paſſage, going into the Garden, and ſaid ſuch a Word to me as I never heard in my Life from him, to Man, Woman or Child; for he firſt ſaid, This Crea⯑ture's always in my way, I think. I ſaid, ſtanding up as cloſe as I could (and the Entry was wide enough for a Coach too) I hope I ſhan't be long in your Honour's Way. D—n you! ſaid he (that was the hard Word) for a little Witch; I have no Patience with you.
I profeſs, I trembled to hear him ſay ſo; but I ſaw he was vex'd; and as I am going away, I minded it the leſs. But I ſee, my dear Parents, that when a Perſon will do wicked Things, it is no Wonder he will ſpeak wicked Words. And ſo I reſt
LETTER XIX.
[43]OUR John having no Opportunity to go your Way, I write again, and ſend both Letters at once. I can't ſay, yet, when I ſhall get away, nor how I ſhall come; becauſe Mrs. Jervis ſhew'd my Maſter the Waiſtcoat I am flowering for him, and he ſaid. It looks well enough: I think the Creature had beſt ſtay till ſhe has finiſh'd it.
There is ſome private Talk carry'd on betwixt him and Mrs. Jervis, that ſhe don't tell me of; but yet ſhe is very kind to me, and I don't miſtruſt her at all. I ſhould be very baſe if I did. But, to be ſure, ſhe muſt oblige him, and keep all his lawful Commands; and other, I dare ſay, ſhe won't keep: She is too good, and loves me too well; but ſhe muſt ſtay when I am gone, and ſo muſt get no Ill-will.
She has been at me again to ask to ſtay, and humble myſelf, as ſhe calls it. But what have I done, Mrs. Jervis? ſaid I: If I have been a Sauce-box, and a Bold-face, and Pert, and a Creature, as he calls me, have I not had Reaſon? Do you think I ſhould ever have forgot myſelf, if he had not forgot to act as my Maſter? Tell me, from your own Heart, dear Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, if you think I could ſtay and be ſafe: What would you think, or how would you act, in my Caſe?
My dear Pamela, ſaid ſhe, and kiſs'd me, I don't know how I ſhould act, or what I ſhould think. I hope I ſhould act as you do. But I know nobody elſe that would. My Maſter is a fine Gentleman; he has a great deal of Wit and Senſe, and is admir'd, as I know, by half a dozen Ladies, who would think [44] themſelvs happy in his Addreſſes. He has a noble Eſtate; and yet I believe he loves my good Maiden, tho' his Servant, better than all the Ladies in the Land; and he has try'd to overcome it, becauſe he knows you are ſo much his Inferior; and 'tis my Opi⯑nion he finds he can't; and that vexes his proud Heart, and makes him reſolve you ſhan't ſtay; and ſo he ſpeaks ſo to croſs you, when he ſees you by Accident.
Well, but, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, let me ask you, if he can ſtoop to like ſuch a poor Girl as I, as perhaps he may (for I have read of Things almoſt as ſtrange, from great Men to poor Damſels) What can it be for?—He may condeſcend, may-hap, to think I may be good enough for his Harlot; and thoſe Things don't diſgrace Men, that ruin poor Women, as the World goes. And ſo, if I was wicked enough, he would keep me till I was undone, and 'till his Mind changed; for even wicked Men, I have read, ſoon grow weary of Wickedneſs of one Sort, and love Variety. Well then, poor Pamela muſt be turn'd off, and look'd upon as a vile abandon'd Creature, and every body would deſpiſe her; ay, and juſtly too, Mrs. Jervis; for ſhe that can't keep her Virtue, ought to live in Diſgrace.
But, Mrs. Jervis, continued I, let me tell you, that I hope, if I was ſure he would always be kind to me, and never turn me off at all, that I ſhall have ſo much Grace, as to hate and withſtand his Temptations, were he not only my Maſter, but my King; and that for the Sin's ſake. This my poor dear Parents have always taught me; and I ſhould be a ſad wicked Creature indeed, if, for the ſake of Riches or Favour, I ſhould forfeit my good Name: yea, and worſe than any other young body of my Sex; becauſe I can ſo contentedly return to my Poverty again, and think it leſs Diſgrace to be oblig'd to wear Rags, and [45] live upon Rye-bread and Water, as I uſed to do, than to be a Harlot to the greateſt Man in the World.
Mrs. Jervis lifted up her Hands, and had her Eyes full of Tears. God bleſs you, my dear Love! ſaid ſhe; you are my Admiration and Delight.—How ſhall I do to part with you!
Well, good Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, let me ask you now: —You and he have had ſome Talk, and you mayn't be ſuffer'd to tell me all. But, do you think, if I was to ask to ſtay, that he is ſorry for what he has done? ay, and aſham'd of it too? for I am ſure he ought, conſidering his high Degree, and my low Degree, and how I have nothing in the World to truſt to but my Honeſty: Do you think in your own Conſcience now (pray anſwer me truly) that he would never offer any thing to me again, and that I could be ſafe?
Alas! my dear Child, ſaid ſhe, don't put thy home Queſtions to me, with that pretty becoming Earneſt⯑neſs in thy Look. I know this, that he is vex'd at what he has done; he was vex'd the firſt time, more vex'd the ſecond time.
Yes, ſaid I, and ſo he will be vex'd, I ſuppoſe, the third, and the fourth time too, 'till he has quite ruin'd your poor Maiden; and who will have Cauſe to be vex'd then?
Nay, Pamela, ſaid ſhe, don't imagine that I would be acceſſary to your Ruin for the World. I only can ſay, that he has, yet, done you no Hurt; and 'tis no Wonder he ſhould love you, you are ſo pretty; tho' ſo much beneath him: But I dare ſwear for him, he never will offer you any Force.
You ſay, ſaid I, that he was ſorry for his firſt Offer in the Summer-houſe; well, and how long did his Sorrow laſt?—Only 'till he found me by myſelf; and then he was worſe than before: and ſo became [46] ſorry again. And if he has deign'd to love me, and you ſay can't help it, why he can't help it neither, if he ſhould have an Opportunity, a third time to diſtreſse me. And I have read, that many a Man has been aſham'd of his Wickedneſs at a Repulſe, that never would, had he ſucceeded. Beſides, Mrs. Jer⯑vis, if he really intends to offer no Force, What does that mean?—While you ſay he can't help liking me, for Love it cannot be—Does it not imply, that he hopes to ruin me by my own Conſent? I think, ſaid I, (and I hope I ſhould have Grace to do ſo) that I ſhould not give way to his Temptations on any Ac⯑count; but it would be very preſumptuous in me to rely upon my own Strength, againſt a Gentleman of his Qualifications and Eſtate, and who is my Maſter; and thinks himſelf intitled to call me Bold-face, and what not? only for ſtanding on my neceſſary Defence: And that where the Good of my Soul and Body, and my Duty to God, and my Parents, are all concern'd. How then, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, can I ask or wiſh to ſtay?
Well, well, ſays ſhe, as he ſeems very deſirous you ſhould not ſtay, I hope it is from a good Motive; for fear he ſhould be tempted to diſgrace himſelf as well as you. No, no, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I; I have thought of that too; for I would be glad to think of him with that Duty that becomes me: But then he would have let me gone to Lady Davers, and not have hinder'd my Preferment. And he would not have ſaid, I ſhould return to my Poverty and Diſtreſs, when, by his Mother's Goodneſs, I had been lifted out of it; but that he intended to fright me, and puniſh me, as he thought, for not complying with his Wickedneſs: and this ſhews me enough what I have to expect from his future Goodneſs, except I will deſerve it at his own dear, dear Price.
[47]She was ſilent, and I ſaid, Well, there's no more to be ſaid; I muſt go, that's certain: All my Concern will be how to part with you: And indeed, next to you, with every body; for all my Fellow-ſervants have loved me, and you and they will coſt me a Sigh, and a Tear, too, now-and-then, I am ſure. And ſo I fell a-crying: I could not help it. For it is a pleaſant Thing to one to be in a Houſe among a great many Fellow-ſervants, and be belov'd by them all.
Nay, I ſhould have told you before now, how kind and civil Mr. Longman our Steward is; vaſtly cour⯑teous, indeed, on all Occaſions! And he ſaid once to Mrs. Jervis, he wiſh'd he was a young Man for my ſake; I ſhould be his Wife, and he would ſettle all he had upon me on Marriage; and, you muſt know, he is reckon'd worth a Power of Money.
I take no Pride in this; but bleſs God, and your good Example, my dear Parents, that I have been en⯑abled ſo to carry myſelf, as to have every body's good Word. Not but that our Cook one Day, who is a little ſnappiſh and croſs ſometimes, ſaid once to me, Why this Pamela of ours goes as fine as a Lady. See what it is to have a fine Face! — I wonder what the Girl will come to at laſt!
She was hot with her Work; and I ſneak'd away; for I ſeldom go down into the Kitchen; and I heard the Butler ſay, Why, Jane, nobody has your good Word: What has Mrs. Pamela done to you? I am ſure ſhe offends nobody. And what, ſaid the peeviſh Wench, have I ſaid to her, Foolatum; but that ſhe was pretty? They quarrell'd afterwards, I heard: I was ſorry for it, but troubled myſelf no more about it. Forgive this ſilly Prattle, from
O! I forgot to ſay, that I would ſtay to finiſh the Waiſtcoat; I never did a prettier Piece of Work; and I am up early and late to gee it done; for I long to come to you.
LETTER XX.
I Did not ſend my laſt Letters ſo ſoon as I hop'd, becauſe John (whether my Maſter miſtruſts or no, I can't ſay) had been ſent to Lady Davers's, in⯑ſtead of Iſaac, who uſed to go; and I could not be ſo free with, nor ſo well truſt Iſaac; tho' he is very civil to me too. So I was forced to ſtay 'till John return'd.
As I may not have Opportunity to ſend again ſoon, and yet as I know you keep my Letters, and read them over and over, (ſo John told me) when you have done Work, (ſo much does your Kindneſs make you love all that comes from your poor Daughter) and as it may be ſome little Pleaſure to me, may-hap, to read them myſelf, when I am come to you, to re⯑mind me what I have gone thro', and how great God's Goodneſs has been to me (which, I hope, will further ſtrengthen my good Reſolutions, that I may not hereafter, from my bad Conduct, have Reaſon to condemn myſelf from my own Hand as it were): For all theſe Reaſons, I ſay, I will write as I have Time, and as Matters happen, and ſend the Scribble to you as I have Opportunity; and if I don't every time, in Form, ſubſcribe as I ought, I am ſure you will always believe, that it is not for want of Duty. So [49] I will begin where I left off about the Talk between Mrs. Jervis and me, for me to ask to ſtay.
Unknown to Mrs. Jervis, I put a Project, as I may call it, in Practice. I thought with myſelf ſome Days ago, Here I ſhall go home to my poor Father and Mother, and have nothing on my Back, that will be fit for my Condition; for how ſhould your poor Daughter look with a Silk Night-gown, Silken Petticoats, Cambrick Head-cloaths, fine Hol⯑land Linen, lac'd Shoes, that were my Lady's, and fine Stockens! And how in a little while muſt they have look'd, like old Caſt-offs indeed, and I look'd ſo for wearing them! And People would have ſaid, (for poor Folks are envious, as well as rich) See there Goody Andrews's Daughter, turn'd home from her fine Place! What a tawdry Figure ſhe makes! And how well that Garb becomes her poor Parents Cir⯑cumſtances! —And how would they look upon me, thought I to myſelf, when they come to be thread-bare and worn out? And how ſhould I look, even if I could get homeſpun Cloaths, to dwindle into them one by one, as I could get them?—May-be, an old Silk Gown, and a Linſey-woolſey Petticoat, and the like. So, thought I, I had better get myſelf at once 'quipt in the Dreſs that will become my Condition; and tho' it may look but poor to what I have been us'd to wear of late Days, yet it will ſerve me, when I am with you, for a good Holiday and Sunday Suit, and what, by a Bleſſing on my Induſtry, I may, per⯑haps, make ſhift to keep up to.
So, as I was ſaying, unknown to any body, I bought of Farmer Nichols's Wife and Daughters, a good ſad-colour'd Stuff, of their own Spinning, enough to make me a Gown and two Petticoats; and I made Robings and Facings of a pretty Bit of printed Calico, I had by me.
[50]I had a pretty good Camblet quilted Coat, that I thought might do tolerably well; and I bought two Flanel Under-coats; not ſo good as my Swan-skin and fine Linen ones, but what will keep me warm, if any Neighbour ſhould get me to go out to help 'em to milk, now-and-then, as ſometimes I us'd to do formerly; for I am reſolv'd to do all your good Neighbours what Kindneſs I can; and hope to make myſelf as much belov'd about you, as I am here.
I got ſome pretty good Scots Cloth, and made me, at Mornings and Nights, when nobody ſaw me, two Shifts; and I have enough left for two Shirts, and two Shifts, for you, my dear Father and Mother. When I come home, I'll make 'em for you, and deſire your Acceptance as my firſt Preſent.
Then I bought of a Pedlar, two pretty enough round-ear'd Caps, a little Straw-hat, and a Pair of knit Mittens, turn'd up with white Calico; and two Pair of ordinary blue Worſted Hoſe, that make a ſmartiſh Appearance, with white Clocks, I'll aſſure you; and two Yards of black Ribband for my Shift Sleeves, and to ſerve as a Necklace; and when I had 'em all come home, I went and look'd upon them once in two Hours, for two Days together: For, you muſt know, tho' I lie with Mrs. Jervis, I keep my own little Apartment ſtill for my Cloaths; and nobody goes thither but myſelf. You'll ſay, I was no bad Houſewife to have ſav'd ſo much Money; but my dear good Lady was always giving me ſomething.
I believ'd myſelf the more oblig'd to do this, be⯑cauſe, as I was turn'd away for what my good Ma⯑ſter thought Want of Duty; and, as he expected other Returns for his Preſents, than I intended to make him; ſo I thought it was but juſt to leave his Preſents behind me when I went away; [51] for, you know, if I would not earn his Wages, why ſhould I have them?
Don't trouble yourſelf, now I think of it, about the Four Guineas, nor borrow to make them up; for they were given me, with ſome Silver, as I told you, as a Perquiſite, being what my Lady had about her when ſhe dy'd; and, as I hope for no other Wages, I am ſo vain as to think I have deſerv'd them in the fourteen Months, ſince my Lady's Death: For ſhe, good Soul! overpaid me before, in Learning and other Kindneſſes.—Had ſhe liv'd, none of theſe Things might have happen'd!—But I ought to be thankful 'tis no worſe. Every thing will turn about for the beſt; that's my Confidence.
So, as I was ſaying, I have provided a new and more ſuitable Dreſs, and I long to appear in it, more than ever I did in any new Cloaths in my Life; for then I ſhall be ſoon after with you, and at Eaſe in my Mind.—But, mum—I am, &c.
LETTER XXI.
I WAS forc'd to break off; for I fear'd my Maſter was coming; but it prov'd to be only Mrs. Jervis. She came to me, and ſaid, I can't endure you ſhould be ſo much by yourſelf, Pamela. And I, ſaid I, dread nothing ſo much as Company; for my Heart was up at my Mouth now, for fear my Maſter was coming. But I always rejoice to ſee my dear Mrs. Jervis.
Said ſhe, I have had a World of Talk with my Maſter about you. I am ſorry for it, ſaid I, that I am made of ſo much Conſequence as to be talk'd [52] of by him. O, ſaid ſhe, I muſt not tell you all; but you are of more Conſequence to him, than you think for —
Or wiſh for, ſaid I; for the Fruits of being of Con⯑ſequence to him, would make me of none to myſelf, or any body elſe.
Said ſhe, Thou art as witty as any Lady in the Land: I wonder where thou gotteſt it. But they muſt be poor Ladies, with ſuch great Opportunities, I am ſure, if they have no more than I.—But let that paſs.
I ſuppoſe, ſaid I, that I am of ſo much Conſe⯑quence, however, as to vex him, if it be but to think, he can't make a Fool of ſuch a one as I; and that is nothing at all, but a Rebuke to the Pride of his high Condition, which he did not expect, and knows not how to put up with.
There is ſomething in that, may-be, ſaid ſhe; but indeed, Pamela, he is very angry at you too; and calls you twenty perverſe Things; wonders at his own Folly, to have ſhewn you ſo much Favour, as he calls it; which he was firſt inclin'd to, he ſays, for his Mother's ſake, and would have perſiſted to ſhew you for your own, if you was not your own Enemy.
Nay, now I ſhan't love you, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I; you are going to perſuade me to ask to ſtay, tho' you know the Hazards I run.—No, ſaid ſhe, he ſays you ſhall go; for he thinks it won't be for his Reputation to keep you: But he wiſh'd (don't ſpeak of it for the World, Pamela) that he knew a Lady of Birth, juſt ſuch another as yourſelf, in Perſon and Mind, and he would marry her To⯑morrow.
I colour'd up to the Ears at this Word; but ſaid, Yet if I was the Lady of Birth, and he would offer to be rude firſt, as he has twice done to poor me, [53] I don't know whether I would have him: For ſhe that can bear an Inſult of that kind, I ſhould think not worthy to be any Gentleman's Wife; any more than he would be a Gentleman that would offer it.
Nay, now, Pamela, ſaid ſhe, thou carrieſt thy No⯑tions a great way. Well, dear Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, very ſeriouſly, for I could not help it, I am more full of Fears than ever. I have only to beg of you, as one of the beſt Friends I have in the World, to ſay no⯑thing of my asking to ſtay. To ſay my Maſter likes me, when I know what End he aims at, is Abomina⯑tion to my Ears; and I ſhan't think myſelf ſafe till I am at my poor Father's and Mother's.
She was a little angry at me, 'till I aſſured her, that I had not the leaſt Uneaſineſs on her Account, but thought myſelf ſafe under her Protection and Friendſhip. And ſo we dropt the Diſcourſe for that Time.
I hope to have finiſh'd this ugly Waiſtcoat in two Days; after which, I have only ſome Linen to get up, and do ſomething to, and ſhall then let you know how I ſhall contrive as to my Paſſage; for the heavy Rains will make it ſad travelling on Foot: But may⯑be I may get a Place to —, which is ten Miles of the Way, in Farmer Nichols's cloſe Cart; for I can't ſit a Horſe well at all. And may-be nobody will be ſuffer'd to ſee me on upon the Way. But I hope to let you know more,
LETTER XXII.
[54]ALL my Fellow-ſervants have now ſome Notion, that I am to go away; but can't imagine for what. Mrs. Jervis tells them, that my Father and Mother, growing in Years, cannot live without me; and ſo I go to them, to help to comfort their old Age; but they ſeem not to believe it.
What they found it out by, was, the Butler heard him ſay to me, as I paſs'd by him, in the Entry lead⯑ing to the Hall, Who's that's? Pamela, Sir, ſaid I▪ Pamela! ſaid he, How long are you to ſtay here? — Only, pleaſe your Honour, ſaid I, till I have done the Waiſtcoat; and it is almoſt done. — You might, ſays he, (very roughly indeed) have finiſhed that long enough ago, I ſhould have thought. In⯑deed, and pleaſe your Honour, ſaid I, I have work'd early and late upon it; there is a great deal of Work in it. — Work in it! ſaid he; yes, you mind your Pen more than your Needle; I don't want ſuch idle Sluts to ſtay in my Houſe.
He ſeem'd ſtartled, when he ſaw the Butler. As he enter'd the Hall, where Mr. Jonathan ſtood, What do you here? ſaid he.—The Butler was as much con⯑founded as I; for I, never having been tax'd ſo roughly, could not help crying ſadly; and got out of both their ways to Mrs. Jervis, and told my Com⯑plaint. This Love, ſaid ſhe, is the D———l! in how many ſtrange Shapes does it make People ſhew themſelves? And in ſome the fartheſt from their Hearts.
So one, and then another, has been ſince whiſper⯑ing, Pray, Mrs. Jervis, are we to loſe Mrs. Pamela? as they always call me —What has ſhe done? And [55] then ſhe tells them as above, about going home to you.
She ſaid afterwards to me, Well, Pamela, you have made our Maſter, from the ſweeteſt-temper'd Gentleman in the World, one of the moſt peeviſh. But you have it in your Power to make him as ſweet-temper'd as ever; tho' I hope you'll never do it on his Terms.
This was very good in Mrs. Jervis; but it inti⯑mated, that ſhe thought as ill of his Deſigns as I; and as ſhe knew his Mind more than I, it convinced me, that I ought to get away as faſt as I could.
My Maſter came in, juſt now, to ſpeak to Mrs. Jervis about Houſhold Matters, having ſome Com⯑pany to dine with him To-morrow; and I ſtood up, and having, been crying, at his Roughneſs in the En⯑try, I turn'd away my Face.
You may well, ſaid he, turn away your curſed Face; I wiſh I had never ſeen it! — Mrs. Jervis, how long is ſhe to be about this Waiſtcoat?
Sir, ſaid I, if your Honour had pleaſed, I would have taken it with me; and tho' it would be now finiſh'd in a few Hours, I will do ſo ſtill; and remove this hated poor Pamela out of your Houſe and Sight for ever.
Mrs. Jervis ſaid he, not ſpeaking to me, I believe this little Slut has the Power of Witchcraft, if ever there was a Witch; for ſhe inchants all that come near her. She makes even you, who ſhould know better what the World is, think her an Angel of Light.
I offer'd to go away; for I believ'd he wanted me to ask to ſtay in my Place, for all this his great Wrath; and he ſaid, Stay here! ſtay here, when I bid you! and ſnatch'd my Hand. I trembled, and ſaid, I will! I will! for he hurt my Fingers, he graſped me ſo hard.
[56]He ſeem'd to have a mind to ſay ſomething to me; but broke off abruptly, and ſaid, Begone! And away I tripp'd, as faſt as I could; and he and Mrs. Jervis had a deal of Talk, as ſhe told me; and among the reſt, he expreſſed himſelf vex'd to have ſpoken in Mr. Jonathan's Hearing.
Now you muſt know, that Mr. Jonathan, our Butler, is a very grave good ſort of old Man, with his Hair as white as Silver! and an honeſt worthy Man he is. I was hurrying out with a Flea in my Ear, as the Saying is, and going down Stairs into the Par⯑lour, met him. He took hold of my Hand, (in a gentler manner tho' than my Maſter) with both his; and he ſaid, Ah! ſweet, ſweet Mrs. Pamela! what is it I heard juſt now! —I am ſorry at my Heart; but I am ſure I will ſooner believe any body in Fault than you. Thank you, Mr. Jonathan, ſaid I; but as you value your Place, don't be ſeen ſpeaking to ſuch a one as me. I cry'd too; and ſlipt away as faſt as I could from him, for his own ſake, leſt he ſhould be ſeen to pity me.
And now I will give you an Inſtance how much I am in Mr. Longman's Eſteem alſo.
I had loſt my Pen ſome-how; and my Paper being written out, I ſtepp'd to Mr. Longman's our Steward's Office, to beg him to give me a Pen or two, and a Sheet or two of Paper. He ſaid, Ay, that I will, my ſweet Maiden! And gave me three Pens, ſome Wa⯑fers, a Stick of Wax, and twelve Sheets of Paper; and coming from his Desk, where be was writing, he ſaid, Let me have a Word or two with you, my ſweet little Miſtreſs (for ſo theſe two good old Gentlemen often call me; for I believe they love me dearly): I hear bad News; that we are going to loſe you: I hope it is not true? Yes, it is, Sir, ſaid I; but I was in Hopes it would not be known till I went away.
[57]What a D—l, ſaid he, ails our Maſter of late! I never ſaw ſuch an Alteration in any Man in my Life! He is pleas'd with nobody, as I ſee; And by what Mr. Jonathan tells me juſt now, he was quite out of the way with you. What could you have done to him, tro'? Only Mrs. Jervis is a very good Wo⯑man; or I ſhould have fear'd ſhe had been your Enemy.
No, ſaid I, nothing like it. Mrs. Jervis is a juſt good Woman, and, next to my Father and Mother, the beſt Friend I have in the World.—Well then, ſaid he, it muſt be worſe. Shall I gueſs? You are too pretty, my ſweet Miſtreſs, and, may-be, too virtuous. Ah! have I not hit it? No, good Mr. Longman, ſaid I, don't think any thing amiſs of my Maſter; he is croſs and angry with me indeed, that's true; but I may have given Occaſion for it, may-be; and becauſe I am obliged to go to my Father and Mo⯑ther, rather than ſtay here, may-hap, he may think me ungrateful. But, you know, Sir, ſaid I, that a Father and Mother's Comfort is the deareſt thing to a good Child that can be. Sweet Excellence! ſaid he, this becomes you; but I know the World and Man⯑kind too well; tho' I muſt hear, and ſee, and ſay no⯑thing! And a Bleſſing attend my little Sweeting, ſaid he, where-ever you go! And away went I, with a Curt'ſy and Thanks.
Now this pleaſes one, my dear Father and Mother, to be ſo belov'd.—How much better, by good Fame and Integrity, is it to get every one's good Word but one, than by pleaſing that one, to make every one elſe one's Enemy, and be an execrable Creature beſides! I am, &c.
LETTER XXIII.
[58]WE had a great many neighbouring Gentlemen, and their Ladies, this Day at Dinner; and my Maſter made a fine Entertainment for them. And Iſaac, and Mr. Jonathan, and Benjamin, waited at Table. And Iſaac tells Mrs. Jervis, that the Ladies will by-and-by come to ſee the Houſe, and have the Curioſity to ſee me; for it ſeems, they ſaid to my Maſter, when the Jokes flew about, Well, Mr. B—, we underſtand, you have a Servant-maid, who is the greateſt Beauty in the County; and we promiſe our⯑ſelves to ſee her before we go.
The Wench is well enough, ſaid he; but no ſuch Beauty as you talk of, I'll aſſure ye. She was my Mother's Waiting-maid, who, on her Death-bed, en⯑gag'd me to be kind to her, 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 ſtrongly, there is ſo much Merit in Beauty, that I make no doubt ſuch a fine Gentleman would have wanted no ſuch ſtrong Inducement to be kind.
They all laugh'd at my Maſter: And he, it ſeems, laugh'd 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 I think her greateſt Excellence is, that ſhe is humble, and courteous, and faithful, and makes all her Fellow-ſervants love her: My Houſe-keeper, in particular, doats upon her; and you know, Ladies, ſhe is a Woman of Diſcernment: And, as for Mr. Longman, and Jonathan, here, if they thought [59] themſelves young enough, I am told, they would fight for her. Is it not true, Jonathan? Troth, Sir, ſaid he, an't pleaſe your Honour, I never knew her Peer, and all your Honour's Family are of the ſame Mind. Do you hear now? 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 more by-and-by. I wiſh they had come, and were gone. Why can't they make their Game without me?
Well, theſe fine Ladies have been here, and gone back again. 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, Lady Arthur at the great white Houſe on the Hill, Lady Brookes, Lady Towers, and the other, it ſeems, a Counteſs, of ſome hard Name, I forget what.
So, Mrs. Jervis, ſays one of the Ladies, how do you do? We are all come to inquire after your Health. I am much oblig'd to your Ladyſhips, ſaid Mrs. Jervis: Will your Ladyſhips pleaſe to ſit down? But, ſaid the Counteſs, we are not only come to ask after Mrs. Jervis's Health neither; but we are come to ſee a Rarity beſides. Ay, ſays Lady Arthur, I have not ſeen your Pamela theſe two Years, and they tell me ſhe is grown wond'rous pretty in that Time.
Then I wiſh'd I had not been in the Cloſet; for when I came out, they muſt needs know I heard them: but I have often found, that baſhful Bodies owe themſelves a Spite, and frequently confound them⯑ſelves more, by endeavouring to avoid Confuſion.
Why, yes, ſays Mrs. Jervis, Pamela is very pretty indeed; ſhe's but in the Cloſet there:—Pamela, pray [60] ſtep hither. I came out, all cover'd with Bluſhes; and they ſmil'd at one another.
The Counteſs took me by the Hand: Why, in⯑deed, ſhe was pleaſed to ſay, Report has not been too laviſh, I'll aſſure you. Don't be aſham'd, Child (and ſtar'd full in my Face); I wiſh I had juſt ſuch a Face to be aſham'd of. O how like a Fool I look'd!
Lady Arthur ſaid, Ay, my good Pamela, I ſay as her Ladyſhip ſays: Don't be ſo confus'd; tho' indeed it becomes you too. I think your good Lady de⯑parted made a ſweet Choice of ſuch a pretty Atten⯑dant. She would have been mighty proud of you, as ſhe always was praiſing you, had ſhe liv'd till now.
Ah! Madam, ſaid Lady Brookes, do you think, that ſo dutiful a Son as our Neighbour, who always admir'd what his Mother lov'd, does not pride himſelf, for all what he ſaid at Table, in ſuch a pretty Maiden?
She look'd with ſuch a malicious ſneering Counte⯑nance, I cannot abide her.
Lady Towers ſaid, with a free Air, (for it ſeems ſhe is call'd a Wit) Well, Mrs. Pamela, I can't ſay I like you ſo well as theſe Ladies do; for I ſhould never care, if you were my Servant, to have you and your Maſter in the ſame Houſe together. Then they all ſet up a great Laugh.
I know what I could have ſaid, if I durſt. But they are Ladies—and Ladies may ſay any thing.
Says Lady Towers, Can the pretty Image ſpeak, Mrs. Jervis? I vow ſhe has ſpeaking Eyes! O you little Rogue, ſaid ſhe, and tapt me on the Cheek, you ſeem born to undo, or to be undone!
God forbid, and pleaſe your Ladyſhip, ſaid I, it ſhould be either!—I beg, ſaid I, 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 Curt'ſies; and Lady Towers ſaid, as I went out, Prettily ſaid, [61] I vow!—And Lady Brookes 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!
And ſo, belike, their Clacks ran for half an Hour in my Praiſes; and glad was I, when I got out of the Hearing of them.
But, it ſeems, they went down with ſuch a Story to my Maſter, and ſo full of me ▪ that he had much ado to ſtand it; but as it was very little to my Reputation, I am ſure I could take no Pride in it; and I fear'd it would make no better for me. This gives me ano⯑ther Cauſe for wiſhing myſelf out of this Houſe.
This is Thurſday Morning, and next Thurſday I hope to ſet out; for I have finiſh'd my Task, and my Maſter is horrid croſs! And I am vex'd his Croſſneſs affects me ſo. If ever he had any Kind⯑neſs towards me, I believe he now hates me hear⯑tily.
Is it not ſtrange, that Love borders ſo much upon Hate? But this wicked Love is not like the true virtuous Love, to be ſure: That and Hatred muſt be as far off, as Light and Darkneſs. And how muſt this Hate have been increaſed, if he had met with a baſe Compliance, after his wicked Will had been gratify'd?
Well, one may ſee by a little, what a great deal means: For if Innocence cannot attract common Ci⯑vility, what muſt Guilt expect, when Novelty had ceas'd to have its Charms, and Changeableneſs had taken place of it? Thus we read in Holy Writ, that wicked Amnon, when he had ruin'd poor Tamar, hated her more than ever he lov'd her, and would have turn'd her out of Door!
How happy am I, to be turn'd out of Door, with that ſweet Companion my Innocence!—O may that be always my Companion! And while I pre⯑ſume [62] 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 Examples, my dear Parents; my dear poor Parents, I will ſay, be⯑cauſe your Poverty is my Pride, as your Integrity ſhall be my Imitation.
As ſoon as I have din'd, I will put on my new Cloaths. 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-dreſs'd.—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
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 Paſſage to you. But may-be my Maſter won't refuſe to let John bring me. I can ride behind him, I believe, well enough; for he is very careful, and very honeſt; and you know John as well as I; for he loves you both. Beſides, may-be, Mrs. Jervis can put me in ſome way.
LETTER XXIV.
I Shall write on, as long as I ſtay, tho' I ſhould have nothing but Sillineſſes to write; for I know you divert yourſelves on Nights with what I write, [63] becauſe it is mine. John tells me how much you long for my coming; but he ſays, he told you, he hop'd ſomething would happen to hinder it.
I am glad you did not tell him the Occaſion of my coming away; for if they ſhould gueſs, it were better ſo, than to have it from you or me: Beſides, I really am concern'd, that my poor Maſter ſhould caſt ſuch a Thought upon ſuch a Creature as me; for beſides the Diſgrace, it has quite turn'd his Temper; and I begin to think he likes me, and can't help it; and yet ſtrives to conquer it, and ſo finds no way but to be croſs to me.
Don't think me preſumptuous and conceited; for it is more my Concern than my Pride, to ſee ſuch a Gentleman ſo demean himſelf, and leſſen the Regard he uſed to have in the Eyes of all his Servants, on my Account.—But I am to tell you of my new Dreſs to⯑day.
And ſo, when I had din'd, up Stairs I went, and lock'd myſelf into my little Room. There I trick'd myſelf up as well as I could in my new Garb, and put on my round-ear'd ordinary Cap; but with a green Knot however, and my home-ſpun Gown and Petti⯑coat, and plain-leather Shoes; but yet they are what they call Spaniſh Leather, and my ordinary Hoſe, or⯑dinary I mean to what I have been lately uſed to; tho' I ſhall think good Yarn may do very well for every Day, when I come home. A plain Muſlin Tucker I put on, and my black Silk Necklace, inſtead of the French Necklace my Lady gave me; and put the Ear⯑rings out of my Ears; and when I was quite 'quipp'd, I took my Straw Hat in my Hand, with its two blue Strings, and look'd about me in the Glaſs, as proud as any thing.—To ſay Truth, I never lik'd myſelf ſo well in my Life.
O the Pleaſure of deſcending with Eaſe, Inno⯑cence and Reſignation!—Indeed there is nothing [64] 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 lik'd 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. So I ſmil'd, and went to the Houſe-keeper's Parlour: And there ſat good Mrs. Jervis at Work, making a Shift: And, would you believe it? ſhe did not know me at firſt; but roſe up, and pull'd off her Spectacles; and ſaid, Do you want me, forſooth? I could not help laugh⯑ing, and ſaid. Hey-day! Mrs. Jervis, what! don't you know me?—She ſtood all in Amaze, and look'd at me from Top to Toe; Why, you ſurpriſe me, ſaid ſhe; what! Pamela! thus metamorphos'd! How came this about?
As it happen'd, in ſtept 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 with her?—She turn'd me about and about, and I ſhew'd 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 Cloaths ſuitable to my Condition when I return'd 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 [65] ſeems he ſaid to her, I was coming in to let you know that I ſhall go to Lincolnſhire, and may-be to my Siſter Davers's, and be abſent ſome Weeks. But, pray, what pretty neat Damſel was with you? She ſays, ſhe ſmiled, and ask'd, 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 tight prim Laſs for a Daughter; have they?—Tho' I did not ſee her Face neither, ſaid he. If your Honour won't be angry, ſaid ſhe, I will in⯑troduce her into your Preſence; for, I think, ſays ſhe, ſhe out-does our Pamela.
Now I did not thank her for this, as I told her after⯑wards (for it brought a great deal of Trouble upon me, as well as Croſſneſs, as you ſhall hear). That can't be, he was pleaſed to ſay. But if you can find an Ex⯑cuſe for it, let her come in.
At that ſhe ſtept 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 as I was; tho' 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 dropt 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 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!
[66]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, I am Pamela, indeed I am: Indeed I am Pamela, her own ſelf!
He kiſſed me for all I could do; and ſaid, Impoſ⯑ſible! you are a lovelier Girl by half than Pamela; and ſure I may be innocently free with you, tho' I would not do her ſo much Favour.
This was a ſad Bite upon me indeed, and what I could not expect; and Mrs. Jervis look'd like a Fool as much as I, for her Officiouſneſs —At laſt I got away, and ran out of the Parlour, moſt ſadly vex'd, as you may well think.
He talk'd a good deal to Mrs. Jervis, and at laſt order'd me to come in to him. Come in, ſaid he, you little Villain! for ſo he call'd me; good Sirs! what a Name was there! Who is it you put your Tricks upon? I was reſolved never to honour your Unworthineſ, ſaid he, with ſo much Notice again; and ſo you muſt diſguiſe yourſelf, to attract me, and yet pretend, like an Hypocrite as you are—
I was out of Patience, then; Hold, good Sir, ſaid I; don't impure Diſguiſe and Hypocriſy to me, above all things; for hate them both, mean as I am I have put on no Diſguiſe.—What, a-plague, ſaid he, for that was his Word, do you mean then by this Dreſs?—Why, and pleaſe your Honour, ſaid I, I mean one of the honeſteſt things in the World. I have been in Diſguiſe indeed ever ſince my good Lady your Mother took me from my poor Parents. I came to her Ladyſhip ſo poor and mean, that theſe Cloaths I have on, are a princely-Suit, to thoſe I had then. And her Goodneſs heap'd upon me rich Cloaths, and other Bounties: And as I am now re⯑turning to my poor Parents again ſo ſoon, I cannot [67] wear thoſe good things without being whooted at; and ſo have bought what will be more ſuitable to my Degree, and be a good Holiday Suit too, when I get home.
He then took me in his Arms, and preſently puſh'd me from him. Mrs. Jervis, ſaid he, take the little Witch from me; I can neither bear, nor forbear her! (Strange Words theſe!)—But ſtay; you ſhan't go!— Yet begone!—No, come back again.
I thought he was mad, for my Share; for he knew not what he would have. But I was going however, and he ſtept after me, and took hold of my Arm, and brought me in again: I am ſure he made my Arm black and blue; for the Marks are upon it ſtill. Sir, Sir, ſaid I, pray have Mercy; I will, I will come in!
He ſat down, and look'd at me, and, as I thought afterwards, as ſillily as ſuch a poor Girl as I. At laſt, he ſaid. Well, Mrs. Jervis, as I was telling you, you may permit her to ſtay a little longer, till I ſee if my Siſter Davers will have her; if, mean time, ſhe humble herſelf, and ask this as a Favour, and is ſorry for her Pertneſs, and the Liberty ſhe has taken with my Character, out of the Houſe and in the Houſe. Your Honour indeed told me ſo, ſaid Mrs. Jervis; but I never found her inclinable to think herſelf in a Fault. Pride and Perverſeneſs, ſaid he, with a Vengeance! Yet this is your Doat⯑ing-piece!—Well, for once I'll ſubmit myſelf, to tell you, Huſſy, ſaid he to me, you may ſtay a Fort⯑night longer, till I ſee my Siſter Davers: Do you hear what I ſay to you, Statue! Can you neither ſpeak, nor be thankful?—Your Honour frights me ſo, ſaid I, that I can hardly ſpeak: But I will ven⯑ture to ſay, that I have only to beg, as a Favour, that I may go to my Father and Mother.—Why, [68] Fool, ſaid he, won't you like to go to wait on my Siſter Davers? Sir, ſaid I, I was once fond of that Honour; but you were pleaſed to ſay, I might be in Danger from her Ladyſhip's Nephew, or he from me.— D—d Impertinence! ſaid he; do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, do you hear, how ſhe retorts upon me? Was ever ſuch matchleſs Aſſurance!—
I then fell a weeping; for Mrs. Jervis ſaid, Fie, Pa⯑mela, fie! —And I ſaid, My Lot is very hard indeed! I am ſure I would hurt nobody; and I have been, it ſeems, guilty of Indiſcretions, which have coſt me my Place, and my Maſter's Favour, and ſo have been turn'd away. And when the Time is come, that I ſhould return to my poor Parents, I am not ſuffered to go quietly. Good your Honour, what have I done, that I muſt be uſed worſe than if I had robb'd you!— Robb'd me! ſaid he, why ſo you have, Huſſy; you have robb'd me. Who! I, Sir! ſaid I; have I robb'd you? Why then you are a Juſtice of Peace, and may ſend me to Gaol, if you pleaſe, and bring me to a Tryal for my Life! If you can prove that I have robb'd you, I am ſure I ought to die.
Now I was quite ignorant of his Meaning; tho' I did not like it, when it was afterwards explain'd, nei⯑ther; and, well, thought I, what will this come to at laſt, if poor Pamela is eſteem'd a Thief! Then I thought, in an Inſtant, how I ſhould ſhew my Face to my honeſt poor Parents, if I was but ſuſpected.
But, Sir, ſaid I, let me ask you but one Queſtion, and pray don't let me be called Names for it; for I don't mean diſreſpectfully; Why, if I have done amiſs, am I not left to be diſcharged by your Houſe⯑keeper, as the other Maids have been? And if Jane, or Rachel, or Hannah, were to offend, would your Honour ſtoop to take Notice of them? And why ſhould you ſo demean yourſelf to take Notice of [69] me? Pray, Sir, if I have not been worſe than others, why ſhould I ſuffer more than others? and why ſhould I not be turn'd away, and there's an End of it? For indeed I am not of Conſequence enough for my Maſter to concern himſelf and be angry about ſuch a Creature as me.
Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cry'd he again, how pertly I am interrrogated by this ſaucy Slut? Why, Sauce-box, ſays he, did not my good Mother deſire me to take care of you? And have you not been always diſtinguiſh'd by me, above a common Ser⯑vant? And does your Ingratitude upbraid me for this?
I ſaid ſomething mutteringly, and he vow'd he would hear it. I begg'd Excuſe; but he inſiſted upon it. Why then, ſaid I, if your Honour muſt know, I ſaid, That my good Lady did not deſire your Care to extend to the Summer-houſe and her Dreſſing-room.
Well, this was a little ſaucy, you'll ſay!—And he flew into ſuch a Paſſion, that I was forced to run ſor it; and Mrs. Jervis ſaid, It was happy I got out of his Way.
Why what makes him provoke one ſo, then?— I'm almoſt ſorry for it; but I would be glad to get away at any rate. For I begin to be more fearful now.
Juſt now Mr. Jonathan ſent me theſe Lines— (Bleſs me! what ſhall I do?)
‘"Dear Mrs. Pamela, Take care of yourſelf; for Rachel heard my Maſter ſay to Mrs. Jervis, who, ſhe believes, was pleading for you, Say no more, Mrs Jervis; for by G— I will have her. Burn this inſtantly."’
O pray for your poor Daughter. I am called to go to-bed by Mrs. Jervis, for it is paſt Eleven; and I am ſure ſhe ſhall hear of it; for all this is owing to her, tho' ſhe did not mean any Harm. But I have [70] been, and am, in a ſtrange Fluſter; and I ſuppoſe too, ſhe'll ſay, I have been full pert.
O my dear Father and Mother, Power and Riches never want Advocates! But, poor Gentlewoman, ſhe cannot live without him: And he has been very good to her.
So Good-night. May-be I ſhall ſend this in the Morning; but may-be not; ſo won't conclude: tho' yet I muſt ſay, I am (with great Apprehenſions)
LETTER XXV.
O Let me take up my Complaint, and ſay, Never was poor Creature ſo unhappy, and ſo barba⯑rouſly uſed, as poor Pamela! O my dear Father and Mother, my Heart's juſt broke! I can neither write as I ſhould do, nor let it alone; for to whom but you can I vent my Griefs, and keep my poor Heart from burſting! Wicked, wicked Man! — I have no Patience left me! — But yet, don't be frighted— for— I hope— I hope, I am honeſt!— But if my Head and my Heart will let me, you ſhall hear all.—Is there no Conſtable nor Headborough, tho', to take me out of his Houſe? for I am ſure I can ſafely ſwear the Peace againſt him: But, alas! he is greater than any Conſtable, and is a Juſtice himſelf; ſuch a Juſtice, deliver me from!—But God Almighty, I hope, in time, will right me!— For he knows the Innocence of my Heart!
John went your way in the Morning; but I have been too much diſtracted to ſend by him; and have [71] ſeen nobody but Mrs. Jervis, and Rachel, and one I hate to ſee: And indeed I hate now to ſee any body. Strange things I have to tell you, that happen'd ſince laſt Night, that good Mr. Jonathan's Letter, and my Maſter's Harſhneſs, put me into ſuch a Fluſter. But I will no more preambulate.
I went to Mrs. Jervis's Chamber; and, O my dear Father and Mother, my wicked Maſter had hid himſelf, baſe Gentleman as he is! in her Cloſet, where ſhe has a few Books, and Cheſt of Drawers, and ſuch-like. I little ſuſpected it; tho' I uſed, till this ſad Night, always to look into that Cloſet, and another in the Room, and under the Bed, ever ſince the Summer-houſe Trick, but never found any thing; and ſo I did not do it then, being fully reſolved to be angry with Mrs. Jervis for what had happened in the Day, and ſo thought of no⯑thing elſe.
I ſat myſelf down on one Side of the Bed, and ſhe on the other, and we began to undreſs ourſelves; but ſhe on that Side next the wicked Cloſet, that held the worſt Heart in the World. So, ſaid Mrs. Jervis, you won't ſpeak to me, Pamela! I find you are angry with me. Why, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, ſo I am, a little; 'tis a Folly to deny it. You ſee what I have ſuffer'd by your forcing me in to my Maſter: And a Gentlewoman of your Years and Experience muſt needs know, that it was not fit for me to pretend to be any body elſe for my own ſake, nor with regard to my Maſter.
But, ſaid ſhe, who would have thought it would have turn'd out ſo? Ay, ſaid I, little thinking who heard me, Lucifer always is ready to promote his own Work and Workmen. You ſee, preſently, what Uſe he made of it, pretending not to know me, on purpoſe to be free with me: And when he took upon himſelf to know me, to quarrel with me, and uſe me hardly; And you too, ſaid I, to cry, Fie, fie, [72] Pamela! cut me to the Heart: For that encouraged him.
Do you think, my Dear, ſaid ſhe, that I would encourage him? —I never ſaid ſo to you before; but ſince you force it from me, I muſt tell you, that ever ſince you conſulted me, I have uſed my utmoſt Endeavours to divert him from his wicked Purpoſes: And he has promiſed fair; but, to ſay all in a Word, he doats upon you; and I begin to ſee it is not in his Power to help it.
I luckily ſaid nothing of the Note from Mr. Jo⯑nathan; for I began to ſuſpect all the World almoſt: But I ſaid, to try Mrs. Jervis, Well then, what would you have me do? You ſee he is for having me wait on Lady Davers now.
Why, I'll tell you freely, my dear Pamela, ſaid ſhe, and I truſt to your Diſcretion to conceal what I ſay: My Maſter has been often deſiring me to put you upon asking him to let you ſtay.—
Yes, ſaid I, Mrs. Jervis, let me interrupt you: I will tell you why I could not think of that: It was not the Pride of my Heart; but the Pride of my Honeſty: For, what muſt have been the Caſe? Here my Maſter has been very rude to me, once and twice; and you ſay he cannot help it, though he pretends to be ſorry for it: Well, he has given me Warning to leave my Place, and uſes me very harſhly; perhaps, to frighten me to his Purpoſes, as he ſuppoſes I would be fond of ſtaying (as in⯑deed I ſhould, if I could be ſafe; for I love you and all the Houſe, and value him, if he would act as my Maſter). Well then, as I know his De⯑ſigns, and that he owns he cannot help it; muſt I not have ask'd to ſtay, knowing he would attempt me again? for all you could aſſure me of, was, he would do nothing by Force; ſo I, a poor weak Girl, was to be left to my own Strength! And was not this [73] to allow him to tempt me, as one may ſay? and to encourage him to go on in his wicked Devices? — How then, Mrs. Jervis, could I ask or wiſh to ſtay?
You ſay well, my dear Child, ſays ſhe; and you have a Juſtneſs of Thought above your Years; and for all theſe Conſiderations, and for what I have heard this Day, after you ran away, (and I am glad you went as you did) I cannot perſuade you to ſtay; and I ſhall be glad, which is what I never thought I could have ſaid, that you were well at your Father's; for if Lady Davers will entertain you, ſhe may as well have you from thence as here. There's my good Mrs. Jervis! ſaid I; God will bleſs you for your good Counſel to a poor Maiden, that is hard be⯑ſet. But pray what did he ſay, when I was gone.? Why, ſays ſhe, he was very angry with you. But he would hear it I ſaid I: I think it was a little bold; but then he provoked me to it. And had not my Ho⯑neſty been in the Caſe, I would not by any means have been ſo ſaucy. Beſides, Mrs. Jervis, conſider, it was the Truth; if he does not love to hear of the Summer-houſe and the Dreſſing-room, why ſhould he not be aſhamed to continue in the ſame Mind? But, ſaid ſhe, when you had muttered this to yourſelf, you might have told him any thing elſe. Well, ſaid I, I cannot tell a wilful Lye, and ſo there's an End of it. But I find you now give him up, and think there's Dan⯑ger in ſtaying. — Lord bleſs me! I wiſh I was well our of the Houſe; ſo it was at the Bottom of a wet Ditch, on the wildeſt Common in England.
Why, ſaid ſhe, it ſignifies nothing to tell you all he ſaid; but it was enough to make me fear you would not be ſo ſafe as I could wiſh; and, upon my Word, Pamela, I don't wonder he loves you; for, without Flattery, you are a charming Girl! and I never ſaw you look more lovely in my Life, than in [74] that ſame new Dreſs of yours. And then it was ſuch a Surprize upon us all! — I believe truly, you owe ſome of your Danger to the lovely Appearance you made. Then, ſaid I, I wiſh the Cloaths in the Fire. I expected no Effect from them; but if any, a quite contrary one.
Huſh! ſaid I, Mrs. Jervis, did you not hear ſome⯑thing ſtir in the Cloſet? No, ſilly Girl! ſaid ſhe; your Fears are always awake. — But indeed, ſaid I, I think I heard ſomething ruſtle. — May-be, ſays ſhe, the Cat may be got there: But I hear nothing.
I was huſh; but ſhe ſaid, Pr'ythee, my good Girl, make haſte to-bed. See if the Door be faſt. So I did, and was thinking to look in the Cloſet; but hearing no more Noiſe, thought it needleſs, and ſo went again and ſat myſelf down on the Bed-ſide, and went on un⯑dreſſing myſelf. And Mrs. Jervis, being by this time undreſs'd, ſtept into Bed, and bid me haſten, for ſhe was ſleepy.
I don't know what was the Matter; but my Heart ſadly miſgave me; but Mr. Jonathan's Note was enough to make it do ſo, with what Mrs. Jervis had ſaid. I pulled off my Stays, and my Stockens, and all my Cloaths to an Under-petticoat; and then hear⯑ing a ruſtling again in the Cloſet, I ſaid, Heaven pro⯑tect us! but before I ſay my Prayers, I muſt look into this Cloſet. And ſo was going to it ſlip-ſhod, when, O dreadfull out ruſh'd my Maſter, in a rich ſilk and ſilver Morning Gown.
I ſcream'd, and ran to the Bed; and Mrs. Jervis ſcream'd too; and he ſaid, I'll do you no Harm, if you forbear this Noiſe; but otherwiſe take what follows.
Inſtantly he came to the Bed, (for I had crept into it, to Mrs. Jervis, with my Coat on, and my Shoes) and, taking me in his Arms, ſaid, Mrs. Jervis, riſe, and juſt ſtep up Stairs, to keep the Maids from [75] coming down at this Noiſe; I'll do no Harm to this Rebel.
O, for Heaven's ſake! for Pity's ſake! Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, if I am not betray'd, don't leave me; and, I beſeech you, raiſe all the Houſe. No, ſaid Mrs. Jervis, I will not ſtir, my dear Lamb; I will not leave you. I wonder at you, Sir, ſaid ſhe; and kindly threw herſelf upon my Coat, claſping me round the Waiſt; you ſhall not hurt this Innocent, ſaid ſhe; for I will loſe my Life in her Defence. Are there not, ſaid ſhe, enough wicked ones in the World, for your baſe Pur⯑poſe, but you muſt attempt ſuch a Lamb as this?
He was deſperate angry, and threaten'd to throw her out of the Window; and to turn her out of the Houſe the next Morning. You need not, Sir, ſaid ſhe; for I will not ſtay in it. God defend my poor Pamela till To-morrow, and we will both go together.—Says he, let me but expoſtulate a Word or two with you, Pa⯑mela. Pray, Pamela, ſaid Mrs. Jervis, don't hear a Word, except he leaves the Bed, and goes to the other End of the Room. Ay, out of the Room, ſaid I; ex⯑poſtulate To-morrow, if you muſt expoſtulate!
I found his Hand in my Boſom, and when my Fright let me know it, I was ready to die; and I ſighed, and ſcreamed, and fainted away. And ſtill he had his Arms about my Neck; and Mrs. Jervis was about my Feet, and upon my Coat. And all in a cold, clammy Sweat was I. Pamela! Pamela! ſaid Mrs. Jervis, as ſhe tells me ſince, O—h, and gave another Shriek, my poor Pamela is dead for certain! — And ſo, to be ſure, I was for a time; for I knew nothing more of the Matter, one Fit following another, till about three Hours after, as it prov'd to be, I found myſelf in Bed, and Mrs. Jervis ſitting up on one ſide, with her Wrapper about her, and Rachel on the other; and no Maſter, for the wicked Wretch was gone. But I was ſo overjoy'd, that [76] I hardly could believe myſelf; and I ſaid, which were my firſt Words, Mrs. Jervis, Mrs. Rachel, can I be ſure it is you? Tell me! can I?—Where have I been? Huſh, my Dear, ſaid Mrs. Jervis; you have been in Fit after Fit. I never ſaw any body ſo frightful in my Life!
By this I judg'd Mrs. Rachel knew nothing of the Matter; and it ſeems my wicked Maſter had, upon Mrs. Jervis's ſecond Noiſe on my fainting away, ſlipt out, and, as if he had come from his own Chamber, diſturb'd by the Screaming, went up to the Maids Room, (who hearing the Noiſe, lay trembling, and afraid to ſtir) and bid them go down and ſee what was the Matter with Mrs. Jervis and me. And he charg'd Mrs. Jervis, and promiſed to forgive her for what ſhe had ſaid and done, if ſhe would conceal the Matter. So the Maids came down; for the Men lie in the Out⯑houſes; and all went up again, when I came to myſelf a little, except Rachel, who ſtaid to ſit up with me, and bear Mrs. Jervis Company. I believe they all gueſs the Matter to be bad enough; tho' they dare not ſay any thing.
When I think of my Danger, and the Freedoms he actually took, tho' I believe Mrs. Jervis ſaved me from worſe, and ſhe ſays he did, (tho' what can I think, who was in a Fit, and knew nothing of the Matter?) I am almoſt diſtracted.
At firſt I was afraid of Mrs. Jervis; but I am fully ſatisfy'd ſhe is very good, and I ſhould have been loſt but for her; and ſhe takes on grievouſly about it. What would have become of me, had ſhe gone out of the Room, to ſtill the Maids, as he bid her. He'd certainly have ſhut her out, and then, Mercy on me! what would have become of your poor Pamela?
I muſt leave off a little; for my Eyes and my Head are ſadly bad. —This was a dreadful Trial! This was [77] the worſt of all! Oh! that I was out of the Power of this dreadfully wicked Man! Pray for
LETTER XXV.
I Did not riſe till Ten o'Clock, and I had all the Concerns and Wiſhes of the Family, and Multi⯑tudes of Inquiries about me. My wicked Maſter went out early to hunt; but left Word, he would be in to Breakfaſt. And ſo he was.
He came up to our Chamber about Eleven, and had nothing to do to be ſorry: for he was our Maſter, and ſo put on ſharp Anger at firſt.
I had great Emotions at his entering the Room, and threw my Apron over my Head, and fell a crying, as if my Heart would break.
Mrs. Jervis, ſaid he, ſince I know you, and you me ſo well, I don't know how we ſhall live together for the future. Sir, ſaid ſhe, I will take the Liberty to ſay what I think is beſt for both. I have ſo much Grief, that you ſhould attempt to do any Injury to this poor Girl, and eſpecially in my Chamber, that I ſhould think myſelf acceſſary to the Miſchief, if I was not to take Notice of it. Tho' my Ruin therefore may de⯑pend upon it, I deſire not to ſtay; but pray let poor Pamela and me go together. With all my Heart, ſaid he, and the ſooner, the better. She fell a crying. I find, ſays he, this Girl has made a Party of the whole Houſe in her Favour againſt me. Her Innocence deſerves it of us all, ſaid ſhe very kindly: And I never could have thought, that the Son of my dear good Lady departed, [78] could have ſo forfeited his Honour, as to endeavour to deſtroy a Virtue he ought to protect. No more of this, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid he; I will not bear it. As for Pamela, ſhe has a lucky Knack at falling into Fits, when ſhe pleaſes. But the curſed Yellings of you both made me not myſelf. I intended no Harm to her, as I told you both, if you'd have left your Squallings; and I did no Harm neither, but to myſelf; for I raiſed a Hornet's Neſt about my Ears, that, as far as I know, may have ſtung to Death my Reputation. Sir, ſaid Mrs. Jervis, then I beg Mr. Longman may take my Accounts, and I will go away as ſoon as I can. As for Pamela, ſhe is at her Liberty, I hope, to go away next Thurſday, as ſhe intends?
I ſat ſtill; for I could not ſpeak, nor look up, and his Preſence diſcompoſed me extremely; but I was ſorry to hear myſelf the unhappy Occaſion of Mrs. Jervis's loſing her Place, and hope that may be ſtill made up.
Well, ſaid he, let Mr. Longman make up your Ac⯑counts, as ſoon as you will; and Mrs. Jewkes (who is his Houſe-keeper in Lincolnſhire) ſhall come hither in your Place, and won't be leſs obliging, I dare ſay, than you have been. Said ſhe, I have never diſoblig'd you till now; and let me tell you, Sir, if you knew what belong'd to your own Reputation or Honour — No more, no more, ſaid he, of theſe antiquated To⯑picks. I have been no bad Friend to you; and I ſhall always eſteem you, tho' you have not been ſo faithful to my Secrets, as I could have wiſh'd, and have laid me open to this Girl, which has made her more afraid of me than ſhe had Occaſion. Well, Sir, ſaid ſhe, after what paſſed Yeſterday, and laſt Night, I think I went rather too far in Favour of your Injunctions than other⯑wiſe; and I ſhould have deſerv'd every body's Cenſure, as the baſeſt of Creatures, had I been capable of contri⯑buting to your lawleſs Attempts. Still, Mrs. Jervis, [79] ſtill reflecting upon me, and all for imaginary Faults! for what Harm have I done the Girl? — I won't bear it, I'll aſſure you. But yet, in Reſpect to my Mother, I am willing to part friendly with you: Tho' you ought both of you to reflect on the Freedom of your Con⯑verſation, in relation to me; which I ſhould have reſented more than I do, but that I am conſcious I had no Buſineſs to demean myſelf ſo as to be in your Clo⯑ſet, where I might have expected to hear a Multitude of impertinence between you.
Well, Sir, ſaid ſhe, you have no Objection, I hope, to Pamela's going away on Thurſday next? You are mighty ſolicitous, ſaid he, about Pamela: But, no, not I; let her go as ſoon as ſhe will: She is a naughty Girl, and has brought all this upon herſelf; and upon me more Trouble than ſhe can have had from me: But I have overcome it all, and will never concern myſelf about her.
I have a Propoſal made me, added he, ſince I have been out this Morning, that I ſhall go near to embrace; and ſo wiſh only, that a diſcreet Uſe may be made of what is paſt; and there's an End of every thing with me, as to Pamela, I'll aſſure you.
I claſp'd my Hands together thro' my Apron, over⯑joy'd at this, tho' I was ſoon to go away: For, naughty as he has been to me, I wiſh his Proſperity with all my Heart, for my good old Lady's ſake.
Well, Pamela, ſaid he, you need not now be afraid to ſpeak to me; tell me what you lifted up your Hands at? I ſaid not a Word. Says he, If you like what I have ſaid, give me your Hand upon it. I held my Hand upon my Apron; for I could not ſpeak to him; and he took hold of it, and preſſed it, tho' leſs hard than he did my Arm the Day be⯑fore. What does the little Fool cover her Face for? ſaid he: Pull your Apron away; and let me ſee how [80] you look, after your Freedom of Speech of me laſt Night. No wonder you're aſhamed to ſee me. You know you were very free with my Character.
I could not ſtand this harbarous Inſult, at I took it to be, conſidering his Behaviour to me; and I then ſpoke and ſaid, O the Difference between the Minds of thy Creatures, good God! How ſhall ſome be caſt down in their Innocence, while others ſhall tri⯑umph in their Guilt!
And ſo ſaying, I went up Stairs to my Chamber, and wrote all this; for tho' he vex'd me at his Taunt⯑ing, yet I was pleaſed to hear he was likely to be mar⯑ry'd, and that his wicked Intentions were ſo happily overcome as to me; and this made me a little eaſier. And I hope I have paſs'd the Worſt; or elſe it is very hard. And yet I ſhan't think myſelf at Eaſe quite, till I am with you. For, methinks, after all, his Re⯑pentance and Amendment are mighty ſuddenly re⯑ſolv'd upon. But the Divine Grace is not confin'd to Space; and Remorſe may, and I hope has ſmitten him to the Heart at once, for his Injuries to poor me! Yet I won't be too ſecure neither.
Having Opportunity, I ſend now what I know will grieve you to the Heart. But I hope I ſhall bring my next Scribble myſelf; and ſo conclude, tho' half broken-hearted,
LETTER XXVI.
[81]I Am glad I deſir'd you not to meet me, and John ſays you won't; for he ſays, he told you, he is ſure I ſhall get a Paſſage well enough, either behind ſome one of my Fellow-ſervants on Horſeback, or by Farmer Nichols's Means: But as for the Chariot he talk'd to you of, I can't expect that Favour, to be ſure; and I ſhould not care for it, becauſe it would look ſo much above me. But Farmer Brady, they ſay, has a Chaiſe with one Horſe, and we hope to borrow that, or hire it rather than fail; tho' Money runs a little lowiſh, after what I have laid out; but I don't care to ſay ſo here: tho' I warrant I might have what I would of Mrs. Jervis, or Mr. Jonathan, or Mr. Longman; but then how ſhall I pay it, you'll ſay? And beſides, I don't love to be beholden.
But the chief Reaſon I'm glad you don't ſet out to meet me, is the Uncertainty; for it ſeems I muſt ſtay another Week ſtill, and hope certainly to go Thurſday after. For poor Mrs. Jervis will go at the ſame time, ſhe ſays, and can't be ready before.
Oh! that I was once well with you!—Tho' he is very civil too at preſent, and not ſo croſs as he was; and yet he is as vexatious another way, as you ſhall hear. For Yeſterday he had a rich Suit of Cloaths brought home, which they call a Birth-day Suit; for he intends to go to London againſt next Birth-day, to ſee the Court, and our Folks will have it he is to be made a Lord. — I wiſh they may make him an honeſt Man, as he was always thought; but I have not found it ſo, Alas for me!
And ſo, as I was ſaying, he had theſe Cloaths come home, and he try'd them on. And before he [82] pull'd them off, he ſent for me, when nobody elſe was in the Parlour with him: Pamela, ſaid he, you are ſo neat and ſo nice in your own Dreſs, (AlacK-a-day, I did'n't know I was!) that you muſt be a Judge of ours. How are theſe Cloaths made? Do they fit me?— I am no Judge, ſaid I, and pleaſe your Honour; but I think they look very fine.
His Waiſtcoat ſtood an End with Gold Lace, and he look'd very grand. But what he did laſt, has made me very ſerious, and I could make him no Compli⯑ments. Said he, Why don't you wear your uſual Cloaths? Tho' I think every thing looks well upon you (For I ſtill continue in my new Dreſs). I ſaid, I have no Cloaths, Sir, I ought to call my own, but theſe: And it is no Matter what ſuch a one as I wears. Said he, Why, you look very ſerious, Pa⯑mela. I ſee you can bear Malice.—Yes, ſo I can, Sir, ſaid I, according to the Occaſion! Why, ſaid he, your Eyes always look red, I think. Are you not a Fool to take my laſt Freedom ſo much at Heart? I am ſure, you, and that Fool Mrs Jervis, frightened me, by your hideous Squalling, as much as I could frighten you. That is all we had for it, ſaid I; and if you could be ſo afraid of your own Servants know⯑ing of your Attempts upon a poor unworthy Creature, that is under your Protection while I ſtay, ſurely your Honour ought to be more afraid of God Almighty, in whoſe Preſence we all ſtand, in every Action of our Lives, and to whom the Greateſt, as well as the Leaſt, muſt be accountable, let them think what they liſt.
He took my Hand, in a kind of good-humour'd Mockery, and ſaid, Well ſaid, my pretty Preacher I When my Lincolnſhire Chaplain dies, I'll put thee on a Gown and Caſſock, and thou'lt make a good Figure in his Place!— I wiſh, ſaid I, a little vex'd at his Jeer, your Honour's Conſcience would be your Preacher, [83] and then you would need no other Chaplain. Well, well, Pamela, ſaid he, no more of this unfaſhionable Jargon. I did not ſend for you ſo much for your Opinion of my new Suit, as to tell you, you are wel⯑come to ſtay, ſince Mrs. Jervis deſires it, till ſhe goes. I welcome! ſaid I; I am ſure I ſhall rejoice when I am out of the Houſe!
Well, ſaid he, you are an ungrateful Baggage; but I am thinking it would be Pity, with theſe fair ſoft Hands, and that lovely Skin, (as he called it, and took hold of my Hand) that you ſhould return again to hard Work, as you muſt, if you go to your Father's; and ſo I would adviſe her to take a Houſe in London, and let Lodgings to us Members of Parliament, when we come to Town; and ſuch a pretty Daughter as you may paſs for, will always fill her Houſe, and ſhe'll get a great deal of Money.
I was ſadly vex'd at this barbarous Joke; but was ready to cry before, and I guſh'd out into Tears, and (endeavouring to get my Hand from him, but in vain) ſaid, I can expect no better from ſuch a rude Gentle⯑man: Your Behaviour, Sir, to me has been juſt of a Piece with theſe Words; nay, I will ſay't, tho' you were to be ever ſo angry.—I angry, Pamela! No, no, ſaid he, I have overcome all that; and as you are to go away, I look upon you now as Mrs. Jervis's Gueſt, while you both ſtay, and not as my Servant; and ſo you may ſay what you will. But I'll tell you, Pamela, why you need not take this Matter in ſuch high Diſdain I—You have a very pretty romantick Turn for Virtue, and all that. —And I don't ſuppoſe but you'll hold it ſtill; and no⯑body will be able to prevail upon you. But, my Child, (fleeringly he ſpoke it) do but conſider what a fine Op⯑portunity you will then have, for a Tale every Day to good Mother Jervis, and what Subjects for Letter-writing to your Father and Mother, and what pretty Preachments you may hold forth to the young Gentle⯑men. [84] Ad's my Hear.! I think it would be the beſt Thing you and ſhe could do.
You do well, Sir, ſaid I, to even your Wit to ſuch a poor Maiden as me. But, Sir, let me ſay, that if you was not rich and great, and I poor and little, you would not inſult me thus.— Let me ask you, Sir, if you think this becomes your fine Cloaths, and a Maſter's Station? Why ſo ſerious, my pretty Pamela? ſaid he; Why ſo grave? And would kiſs me; but my Heart was full, and I ſaid, Let me alone! I will tell you, if you was a King, and ſaid to me what you have done, that you are no Gentleman: And I won't ſtay to be uſed thus! I will go to the next Far⯑mer's, and there wait for Mrs. Jervis, if ſhe muſt go: And I'd have you know, Sir, that I can ſtoop to the ordinarieſt Work of your Scullions, for all theſe naſty ſoft Hands, ſooner than bear ſuch ungentlemanly Im⯑putations.
Well, ſaid he, I ſent for you in, in high good Hu⯑mour; but 'tis impoſſible to hold it with ſuch an Im⯑pertinent: However I'll keep my Temper. But while I ſee you here, pray don't put on thoſe diſmal grave Looks; Why, Girl, you ſhould forbear 'em, if it were but for your Pride-ſake; for the Family will think you are grieving to leave the Houſe. Then, Sir, ſaid I, I will try to convince them of the contrary, as well as your Honour; for I will endeavour to be more chearful while I ſtay, for that very Reaſon.
Well, ſaid he, I will ſet this down by itſelf, as the firſt Time that ever what I advis'd had any Weight with you. And I will ſay, ſaid I, as the firſt Advice you have given me of late, that was fit to be follow'd! — I wiſh, ſaid he, (I'm almoſt aſham'd to write it, impudent Gentleman as he is! I wiſh) I had thee as quick another Way, as thou art in thy Repartees— And he laugh'd, and I ſnatch'd my Hand from him, [85] and I tripp'd away as faſt as I could. Ah! thought I, marry'd? I'm ſure 'tis time you were married, or at this Rate no honeſt Maiden ought to live with you!
Why, dear Father and Mother, to be ſure he grows quite a Rake! Well, you ſee, how eaſy it is to go from bad to worſe, when once People give way to Vice.
How would my poor Lady, had ſhe liv'd, have griev'd to ſee it! But may-be he would have been bet⯑ter then! — Tho', it ſeems, he told Mrs. Jervis, he had an Eye upon me in his Mother's Life-time; and he intended to let me know as much by the bye, he told her! Here's Shameleſſneſs for you! Sure the World muſt be near at an End! for all the Gentlemen about are as bad as he almoſt, as far as I can hear!— And ſee the Fruits of ſuch bad Examples! There is 'Squire Martin in the Grove, has had three Lyings-in, it ſeems, in his Houſe, in three Months paſt; one by himſelf; and one by his Coachman; and one by his Woodmen; and yet he has turn'd none of them away. Indeed, how can he, when they but follow his own vile Example? There is he, and two or three more ſuch as he, within ten Miles of us; who keep Com⯑pany, and hunt with our fine Maſter, truly; and I ſup⯑poſe he's never the better for their Examples. But, Heaven bleſs me, ſay I, and ſend me out of this wicked Houſe!
But, dear Father and Mother, what Sort of Crea⯑tures muſt the Womenkind be, do you think, to give way to ſuch Wickedneſs? Why, this it is that makes every one be thought of alike: And, alack-a-day! what a World we live in! for it is grown more a Wonder that the Men are reſiſted, than that the Wo⯑men comply. This, I ſuppoſe, makes me ſuch a Sauce-box, and Bold-face, and a Creature; and all becauſe I won't be a Sauce-box and Bold-face indeed.
[86]But I am ſorry for theſe Things; one don't know what Arts and Stratagems theſe Men may deviſe to gain their vile Ends; and ſo I will think as well as I can of theſe poor Creatures, and pity them. For you ſee by my ſad Story, and narrow Eſcapes, what Hardſhips poor Maidens go thro', whoſe Lot it is to go out to Service; eſpecially to Houſes where there is not the Fear of God, and good Rule kept by the Heads of the Family.
You ſee I am quite grown grave and ſerious; ſo it becomes
LETTER XXVII.
JOHN ſays you wept when you read my laſt Letter, that he carry'd. I am ſorry you let him ſee that; for they all miſtruſt already how Matters are; and as it is no Credit that I have been attempted, tho' it is that I have reſiſted; yet I am ſorry they have Cauſe to think ſo evil of my Maſter from any of us:
Mrs. Jervis has made up her Accounts with Mr. Longman, and will ſtay in her Place. I am glad of it, for her own ſake, and for my Maſter's; for ſhe has a good Maſter of him; ſo indeed all have, but poor me! — and he has a good Houſekeeper in her.
Mr. Longman, it ſeems, took upon him to talk to my Maſter, how faithful and careful of his Intereſts ſhe was, and how exact in her Accounts; and he told him, there was no Compariſon between her Ac⯑counts and Mrs. Jewkers's, at the Lincolnſhire Eſtate. [87] He ſaid ſo many fine Things, it ſeems, of Mrs. Jervis, that my Maſter ſent for her in Mr. Longman's Pre⯑ſence, and ſaid Pamela might come along with her: I ſuppoſe to mortify me, that I muſt go, while ſhe was to ſtay: But as, when I go away, I am not to go with her, nor was ſhe to go with me; ſo I did not matter it much; only it would have been creditable to ſuch a poor Girl, that the Houſekeeper would bear me Com⯑pany, if I went.
Said he to her, Well, Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman ſays you have made up your Accounts with him, with your uſual Fidelity and Exactneſs. I had a good mind to make you an Offer of continuing with me, if you can be a little ſorry for your haſty Words, which indeed were not ſo reſpectful as I have deſerv'd at your Hands. She ſeemed at a ſad Loſs what to ſay, becauſe Mr. Longman was there; and ſhe could not ſpeak of the Occaſion of thoſe Words, which was me.
Indeed, ſaid Mr. Longman, I muſt needs ſay before your Face, that ſince I have known my Maſter's Fa⯑mily, I have never found ſuch good Management in it, nor ſo much Love and Harmony neither. I wiſh the Lincolnſhire Eſtate was as well ſerv'd! — No more of that, ſaid my Maſter; but Mrs. Jervis may ſtay, if ſhe will; and here, Mrs. Jervis, pray accept of this, which at the Cloſe of every Year's Accounts I will pre⯑ſent you with, beſides your Salary, as long as I find your Care ſo uſeful and agreeable. And he gave her five Guineas.— She made him a low Curt'ſy, and thanking him, look'd to me, as if ſhe would have ſpoken to me.
He took her Meaning, I believe; for he ſaid,— Indeed I love to encourage Merit and Obligingneſs, Mr. Longman; but I can never be equally kind to thoſe who don't deſerve it at my Hands, as to thoſe who [88] do; and then he look'd full at me. Mr. Longman, continued he, I ſaid that Girl might come in with Mrs. Jervis, becauſe they love to be always together. For Mrs. Jervis is very good to her, and loves her as well as if ſhe was her Daughter. But elſe— Mr. Longman, interrupting him, ſaid, Good to Mrs. Pamela! Ay, Sir, and ſo ſhe is, to be ſure! But every body muſt be good to her; for—
He was going on. But my Maſter ſaid, No more, no more, Mr. Longman. I ſee old Men are taken with pretty young Girls, as well as other Folks; and fair Looks hide many a Fault, where a Perſon has the Art to behave obligingly. Why, and pleaſe your Honour, ſaid Mr. Longman, every body—and was going on, I believe to ſay ſomething more in my Praiſe; but he interrupted him, and ſaid, Not a Word more of this Pamela. I can't let her ſtay, I'll aſſure you; not only for her own Freedom of Speech, but her Letter-writing of all the Secrets of my Family. Ay! ſaid the good old Man; I'm ſorry for that too! But, Sir—No more, I ſay, ſaid my Maſter; for my Reputation's ſo well known, (mighty fine, thought I!) that I care not what any body writes or ſays of me: But to tell you the Truth, (not that it need go further, I think of changing my Condition ſoon; and, you know, young Ladies of Birth and Fortune will chuſe their own Ser⯑vants, and that's my chief Reaſon why Pamela can't ſtay. As for the reſt, ſaid he, the Girl is a good ſort of Body, take her all together; tho' I muſt needs ſay, a little pert, ſince my Mother's Death, in her Anſwers, and gives me two Words for one; which I can't bear; nor is there Reaſon I ſhould, you know, Mr. Long⯑man. No, to be ſure, Sir, ſaid he; but 'tis ſtrange methinks, ſhe ſhould be ſo mild and meek to every one of us in the Houſe, and forget herſelf ſo where ſhe ſhould ſhew moſt Reſpect! Very true, Mr. Long⯑man, ſaid he; but ſo it is, I'll aſſure you; and it was [89] from her Pertneſs, that Mrs. Jervis and I had the Words: And I ſhould mind it the leſs, but that the Girl (there ſhe ſtands, I ſay it to her Face) has Wit and Senſe above her Years, and knows better.
I was in great Pain to ſay ſomething, but yet I knew not what, before Mr. Longman, and Mrs. Jervis, look'd at me, and walk'd to the Window to hide her Concern for me. At laſt, I ſaid, It is for you, Sir, to ſay what you pleaſe; and for me only to ſay, God bleſs your Honour!
Poor Mr. Longman falter'd in his Speech, and was ready to cry. Said my inſulting Maſter to me, Why pr'ythee, Pamela, now, ſhew thyſelf as thou art, be⯑fore Mr. Longman. Can'ſt not give him a Specimen of that Pertneſs which thou haſt exercis'd upon me ſometimes?
Did he not, my dear Father and Mother, deſerve all the Truth to be told? Yet I overcame myſelf ſo far, as to ſay, Well, your Honour may play upon a poor Girl, that you can anſwer you, but dare not.
Why, pr'ythee now, Inſinuator, ſaid he, ſay the worſt you can before Mr. Longman and Mrs. Jervis. I challenge the utmoſt of thy Impertinence; and as you are going away, and have the Love of every body, I would be a little juſtify'd to my Family, that you have no Reaſon to complain of Hardſhips from me, as I have of pert ſaucy Anſwers from you, beſides ex⯑poſing me by your Letters.
Surely, Sir, ſaid I, I am of no Conſequence equal to this, in your Honour's Family, that ſuch a great Gentleman as you, my Maſter, ſhould need to juſtify yourſelf about me. I am glad Mrs. Jervis ſtays with your Honour; and I know I have not deſerv'd to ſtay; and more than that, I don't deſire to ſtay.
Ads-bobbers! ſaid Mr. Longman, and ran to me; don't ſay ſo, don't ſay ſo, dear Mrs. Pamela! We all love you dearly; and pray down of your Knees, and [90] ask his Honour Pardon, and we will all become Plead⯑ers in a Body, and I, and Mrs. Jervis too, at the Head of it, to beg his Honour's Pardon, and to continue you, at leaſt till his Honour marries.— No, Mr. Longman, ſaid I, I cannot ask; nor will I ſtay, if I might. All I deſire, is, to return to my poor Father and Mother; and tho' I love you all, I won't ſtay.— O well-a-day, well-a-day! ſaid the good old Man, I did not expect this?—When I had got Matters thus far, and had made all up for Mrs. Jervis, I was in Hopes to have got a double Holiday of Joy for all the Family, in your Pardon too. Well, ſaid my Ma⯑ſter, this is a little Specimen of what I told you, Mr. Longman. You ſee there's a Spirit you did not expect.
Mr. Jervis told me after, that ſhe could ſtay no longer, to hear me ſo hardly uſed, and muſt have ſpoken, had ſhe ſtay'd, what would never have been forgiven her; ſo ſhe went out. I look'd after her to go too; but my Maſter ſaid, Come, Pamela, give another Specimen, I deſire you, to Mr. Long⯑man: I am ſure you muſt, if you will but ſpeak. Well, Sir, ſaid I, ſince it ſeems your Greatneſs wants to be juſtified by my Lowneſs, and I have no Deſire you ſhould ſuffer in the Sight of your Family, I will ſay, on my bended Knees, (and ſo I kneeled down) that I have been a very faulty, and a very ingrateful Creature to the beſt of Maſters: I have been very perverſe and ſaucy; and have deſerv'd nothing at your Hands, but to be turn'd out of your Family with Shame and Diſgrace. I, therefore, have nothing to ſay for myſelf, but that I am not worthy to ſtay, and ſo cannot wiſh to ſtay, and will not ſtay: And ſo God Almighty bleſs you, and you, Mr. Longman, and good Mrs Jervis, and every living Soul of the Family! and I will pray for you as long as I live.— And ſo I roſe up, and was [91] forc'd to lean upon my Maſter's Elbow-chair, or I ſhould have ſunk down.
The poor old Man wept more than I, and ſaid, Ads-bobbers, was ever the like heard! 'Tis too much, too much; I can't bear it. As I hope to live, I am quite melted. Dear Sir, forgive her: The poor Thing prays for you; ſhe prays for us all! She owns her Fault; yet won't be forgiven! I profeſs I know not what to make of it.
My Maſter himſelf, harden'd Wretch as he was, ſeem'd a little mov'd, and took his Handkerchief out of his Pocket, and walk'd to the Window: What Sort of a Day is it? ſaid he.— And then getting a little more Hard-heartedneſs, he ſaid, Well, you may be gone from my Preſence, thou ſtrange Med⯑ley of Inconſiſtence! but you ſhan't ſtay after your Time in the Houſe.
Nay, pray, Sir, pray, Sir, ſaid the good old Man, relent a little. Ads-heartlikins! you young Gentle⯑men are made of Iron and Steel, I think: I'm ſure, ſaid he, my Heart's turn'd into Butter, and is running away at my Eyes. I never felt the like before.— Said my Maſter, with an imperious Tone, Get out of my Preſence, Huſſy; I can't bear you in my Sight. Sir, ſaid I, I'm going as faſt as I can.
But indeed, my dear Father and Mother, my Head was ſo giddy, and my Limbs trembled ſo, that I was forc'd to go holding by the Wainſcot all the way with both my Hands, and thought I ſhould not have got to the Door: But when I did, as I hop'd this would be my laſt Interview with this terrible hard-hearted Maſter, I turn'd about, and made a low Curt'ſy, and ſaid, God bleſs you, Sir! God bleſs you, Mr. Longman! And I went into the Lobby leading to the great Hall, and dropt into the firſt Chair; for I could get no further a good while.
[92]I leave all theſe Things to your Reflection, my dear Parents; but I can write no more. My poor Heart's almoſt broken! Indeed it is — O when ſhall I get away! — Send me, good God, in Safety, once more to my poor Father's peaceful Cot! —and there the worſt that can happen will be Joy in Perfection to what I now bear!— O pity
LETTER XXVIII.
I Muſt write on, tho' I ſhall come ſo ſoon; for now I have hardly any thing elſe to do. For I have finiſh'd all that lay upon me to do, and only wait the good Time of ſetting out. Mrs. Jervis ſaid, I muſt be low in Pocket, for what I had laid out; and ſo would have preſented me with two Guineas of her Five; but I could not take them of her, becauſe, poor Gentlewoman, ſhe pays old Debts for her Chil⯑dren that were extravagant, and wants them herſelf. This, tho', was very good in her.
I am ſorry, I ſhall have but little to bring with me; but I know you won't, you are ſo good!— and I will work the harder, when I come home, if I can get a little Plain-work, or any thing to do. But all your Neighbourhood is ſo poor, that I fear I ſhall want Work; but may-be Dame Mumford can help me to ſomething, from ſome good Family ſhe is acquainted with.
Here, what a ſad Thing it is! I have been brought up wrong, as Matters ſtand. For, you know, my good Lady, now in Heav'n, lov'd Singing and Dancing; [93] and, as ſhe would have it I had a Voice, ſhe made me learn both; and often and often has ſhe made me ſing her an innocent Song, and a good Pſalm too, and dance before her. And I muſt learn to flower and draw too, and to work fine Work with my Needle; why, all this too I have got pretty to⯑lerably at my Fingers End, as they ſay; and ſhe us'd to praiſe me, and was a good Judge of ſuch Mat⯑ters.
Well now, what is all this to the Purpoſe, as Things have turn'd about?
Why, no more nor leſs, than that I am like the Graſhopper in the Fable, which I have read of in my Lady's Books: and I will write it down, in the very Words: ‘"As the Ants were airing their Proviſions one Winter, a hungry Graſhopper (as ſuppoſe it was poor I) begg'd a Charity of them. They told him, That he ſhould have wrought in Summer, if he would not have wanted in Winter. Well, ſays the Graſhopper, but I was not idle neither; for I ſung out the whole Seaſon. Nay, then, ſaid they, you'll e'en do well to make a merry Year of it, and dance in Winter to the Tune you ſung in Summer."’
So I ſhall make a fine Figure with my Singing and my Dancing, when I come home to you! Nay, I doubt, I ſhall even be unfit for a May-day Holiday-time; for theſe Minuits, Rigadoons, and French Dances, that I have been practiſing, will make me but ill Company for my rural Milk-maid Companions that are to be. To be ſure I had better, as Things ſtand, have learn'd to waſh and ſcour, and brew and bake, and ſuch-like. But I hope, if I can't get Work, and can get a Place, to learn theſe ſoon, if any body will [94] have the Goodneſs to bear with me, till I can learn. For, I bleſs God, I have an humble and a teachable Mind, for all what my Maſter ſays; and, next to his Grace, that is all my Comfort: For I ſhall think nothing too mean that is honeſt. It may be a little hard at firſt, but wo to my proud Heart, if I ſhall find it ſo, on Trial! for I will make it bend to its Condition, or will break it.
I have read of a good Biſhop that was to be burnt for his Religion; and he try'd how he could bear it, by putting his Fingers into the lighted Candle: So I, t'other Day, try'd, when Rachel's Back was turn'd, if I could not ſcour the Pewter Plate ſhe had begun. I ſee I could do't by Degrees; tho' I bliſter'd my Hand in two Places.
All the Matter is, if I could get Needle-work enough, I would not ſpoil my Fingers by this rough Work. But if I can't, I hope to make my Hands as red as a Blood-pudden, and as hard as a Beechen Trencher, to accommodate them to my Condition.— But I muſt break off, here's ſomebody coming.
'Tis only our Hannah with a Meſſage from Mrs. Jervis.— But, hold, here is ſomebody elſe.— Well, it is only Rachel.
I am as much frighted as were the City Mouſe and the Country Mouſe, in the ſame Book of Fables, at every thing that ſtirs. Oh! I have a Power of theſe Things to entertain you with in Winter Evenings, when I come home. If I can but get Work, with a little Time for Reading, I hope we ſhall be very hap⯑py, over our Peat Fires.
What made me hint to you, that I ſhould bring but little with me, is this:
You muſt know, I did intend to do, as I have this Afternoon: And that is, I took all my Cloaths, [95] and all my Linen, and I divided them into three Par⯑cels, as I had before told Mrs. Jervis I intended to do; and I ſaid, It is now Monday, Mrs. Jervis, and I am to go away on Thurſday Morning betimes; ſo, tho' I know you don't doubt my Honeſty, I beg you will look over my poor Matters, and let every one have what belongs to them; for, ſaid I, you know I am reſolv'd to take with me only what I can properly call my own.
Said ſhe, (I did not know her Drift then; to be ſure ſhe meant well; but I did not thank her for it, when I did know it) Let your Things be brought down into the Green-room, and I will do any thing you would have me do.
With all my Heart, ſaid I, Green-room or any⯑where; but I think you might ſtep up, and ſee 'em as they lie.
However, I fetch'd 'em down, and laid them in three Parcels, as before; and, when I had done, I went down to call her up to look at them.
Now, it ſeems, ſhe had prepared my Maſter for this Scene, unknown to me; and in this Green-room was a Cloſet, with a Saſh-door and a Curtain before it; for there ſhe puts her Sweet-meats and ſuch Things; and ſhe did it, it ſeems, to turn his Heart, as know⯑ing what I intended, I ſuppoſe that he ſhould make me take the Things; for if he had, I ſhould have made Money of them, to help us when we got together; for, to be ſure, I could never have appear'd in them.
Well, as I was ſaying, he had got, unknown to me, in this Cloſet; I ſuppoſe while I went to call Mrs. Jervis: And ſhe ſince told me, it was at his Deſire, when ſhe told him ſomething of what I intended, or elſe ſhe would not have done it: Tho' I have Reaſon, I'm ſure, to remember the laſt Cloſet-work.
[96]So I ſaid, when ſhe came up, Here, Mrs. Jervis, is the firſt Parcel; I will ſpread it all abroad. Theſe are the Things my good Lady gave me.—In the firſt place, ſaid I—and ſo I went on deſcribing the Cloaths and Linen my Lady had given me, mingling Bleſſings, as I proceeded, for her Goodneſs to me; and when I had turn'd over that Parcel, I ſaid, Well, ſo much for the firſt Parcel, Mrs. Jervis; that was my Lady's Gifts.
Now I come to the Preſents of my dear virtuous Maſter: Hay, you know, Cloſet for that! Mrs. Jer⯑vis. She laugh'd, and ſaid, I never ſaw ſuch a comi⯑cal Girl in my Life. But go on. I will, Mrs. Jer⯑vis, ſaid I, as ſoon as I have open'd the Bundle; for I was as brisk and as pert as could be, little thinking who heard me.
Now here, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, are my ever worthy Maſter's Preſents; and then I particulariz'd all thoſe in the ſecond Bundle.
After which, I turn'd to my own, and ſaid,
Now, Mrs. Jervis, comes poor Pamela's Bundle, and a little one it is, to the others. Firſt, here is a Calico Night-gown, that I uſed to wear o' Morn⯑ings. 'Twill be rather too good for me when I get home; but I muſt have ſomething. Then there is a quilted Calimanco Coat, and a Pair of Stockens I bought of the Pedlar, and my Straw-hat with blue Strings; and a Remnant of Scots Cloth, which will make two Shirts and two Shifts, the ſame I have on, for my poor Father and Mother. And here are four other Shifts, one the Fellow to that I have on; ano⯑ther pretty good one, and the other two old fine ones, that will ſerve me to turn and wind with at home, for they are not worth leaving behind me; and here are two Pair of Shoes; I have taken the Lace off, which I will burn, and may-be will fetch me [97] ſome little Matter at a Pinch, with an old ſilver Buckle or two.
What do you laugh for, Mrs. Jervis? ſaid I. — Why you are like an April Day; you cry and laugh in a Breath.
Well, let me ſeen; ay, here is a Cotton Handker⯑chief I bought of the Pedlar; there ſhould be an⯑other ſomewhere. O here it is! And here too are my new-bought knit Mittens. And this is my new Flannel Coat, the Fellow to that I have on And in this Parcel pinn'd together, are ſeveral Pieces of printed Calico, Remnants of Silks, and ſuch-like, that, if good Luck ſhould happen, and I ſhould get Work, would ſerve for Robings and Facings, and ſuch-like Uſes. And here too are a Pair of Pockets; they are too fine for me; but I have no worſe. Bleſs me! ſaid I, I did not think I had ſo many good Things!
Well, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, you have ſeen all my Store, and I will now ſit down, and tell you a Piece of my Mind.
Be brief then, ſaid ſhe, my good Girl; for ſhe was afraid, ſhe ſaid afterwards, that I ſhould ſay too much.
Why then the Caſe is this: I am to enter upon a Point of Equity and Conſcience, Mrs. Jervis; and I muſt beg, if you love me, you'd let me have my own Way. Thoſe Things there of my Lady's, I can have no Claim to, ſo as to take them away; for ſhe gave them me, ſuppoſing I was to wear them in her Service, and to do Credit to her bountiful Heart. But ſince I am to be turn'd away, you know, I can⯑not wear them at my poor Father's; for I ſhould bring all the little Village upon my Back: and ſo I reſolve not to have them.
[98]Then, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, I have far leſs Right to theſe of my worthy Maſter's. For you ſee what was his Intention in giving them to me. So they were to be the Price of my Shame, and if I could make uſe of them, I ſhould think I ſhould never proſper with them; and beſides, you know, Mrs. Jervis, if I would not do the good Gentleman's Work, why ſhould I take his Wages? So in Conſcience, in Honour, in every thing, I have nothing to ſay to thee, thou ſecond wicked Bundle!
But, ſaid I, come to my Arms, my dear third Par⯑cel, the Companion of my Poverty, and the Witneſs of my Honeſty; and may I never deſerve the leaſt Rag that is contain'd in thee, when I forfeit a Title to that Innocence that I hope will ever be the Pride of my Life! and then I am ſure it will be my higheſt Comfort at my Death, when all the Riches and Pomps of the World will be worſe than the vileſt Rags that can be worn by Beggars! And ſo I hugg'd my third Bundle.
But, ſaid I, Mrs. Jervis, (and ſhe wept to hear me) one thing more I have to trouble you with, and that's all.
There are Four Guineas, you know, that came out of my good Lady's Pocket, when ſhe dy'd, that, with ſome Silver, my Maſter gave me: Now theſe ſame Four Guineas I ſent to my poor Father and Mother, and they have broken them; but would make them up, if I would: And if you think it ſhould be ſo, it ſhall. But pray tell me honeſtly your Mind: As to the Three Years before my Lady's Death, do you think, as I had no Wages, I may be ſuppos'd to be Quits? — By Quits, I cannot mean, that my poor Services ſhould be equal to my Lady's Goodneſs; for that's impoſſible. But as all her Learning and Education of me, as Matters have turn'd, will be of little Service to me now; for it had been better [99] for me to have been brought up to hard Labour to be ſure; for that I muſt turn to at laſt, if I can't get a Place (and you know, in Places too, one is ſubject to ſuch Temptations as are dreadful to think of): So I ſay, by Quits, I only mean, as I return all the good Things ſhe gave me, whether I may not ſet my little Services againſt my Keeping; becauſe, as I ſaid, my Learning is not now in the Queſtion; and I am ſure my dear good Lady would have thought ſo, had ſhe liv'd: But that, too, is now out of the Queſtion. Well then, if ſo, I would ask, whether in above this Year that I have liv'd with my Maſter, as I am re⯑ſolved to leave all his Gifts behind me, I may not have earn'd, beſides my Keeping, theſe Four Guineas, and theſe poor Cloaths here upon my Back, and in my third Bundle? Now tell me your Mind freely without Favour or Affection.
Alas! my dear Maiden, ſaid ſhe, you make me unable to ſpeak to you at all: To be ſure, it will be the higheſt Affront that can be offer'd, for you to leave any of theſe Things behind you; and you muſt take all your Bundles with you, or my Maſter will never forgive you.
Well, well, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, I don't care; I have been too much uſed to be ſnubb'd and hardly treated by my Maſter, of late. I have done him no Harm; and I ſhall always pray for him, and wiſh him happy. But I don't deſerve theſe Things, I know I don't. Then I can't wear them, if I ſhould take them; ſo they can be of no Uſe to me: And I truſt I ſhall not want the poor Pittance, that is all I deſire to keep Life and Soul together. Bread and Water I can live upon, Mrs. Jervis, with Content. Water I ſhall get any-where; and if I can't get me Bread, I will live like a Bird in Winter upon Hips and Haws, [100] and at other times upon Pig-nuts, and Potatoes, or Turneps, or any thing. So what Occaſion have I for theſe Things?—But all I ask is about theſe Four Gui⯑neas, and if you think I need not return them, that is all I want to know.— To be ſure, my Dear, you need not, ſaid ſhe; you have well earn'd them by that Waiſt⯑coat only. No, I think not ſo, in that only; but in the Linen▪ and other Things, do you think I have? Yes, yes, ſaid ſhe, and more. And my Keeping allow'd for, I mean, ſaid I, and theſe poor Cloaths on my Back, beſides? Remember that, Mrs. Jervis. Yes, my dear Odd-ones, no doubt you have! Well then, ſaid I, I am as happy as a Princeſs. I am quite as rich as I wiſh to be! And, once more, my dear third Bundle, I will hug thee to my Boſom. And I beg you'll ſay nothing of all this till I am gone, that my Maſter mayn't be ſo angry, but that I may go in Peace; for my Heart, without other Matters, will be ready to break to part with you all.
Now, Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, as to one Matter more: And that is my Maſter's laſt Uſage of me, before Mr. Longman.—Said ſhe, Pr'ythee, dear Pamela, ſtep to my Chamber, and fetch me a Paper I left on my Ta⯑ble. I have ſomething to ſhew you in it. I will, ſaid I, and ſtept down but that was only a Fetch to take the Orders of my Maſter, I found. It ſeems he ſaid, he thought two or three times to have burſt out upon me; but he could not ſtand it, and wiſh'd I might not know he was there. But I tript up again ſo nimbly, (for there was no Paper) that I juſt ſaw his Back, as if coming out of that Green Room, and going into the next to it, the firſt Door that was open. —I whipt in, and ſhut the Door and bolted it. O Mrs. Jervis, ſaid I, what have you done by me? — I ſee I can't confide in any body. I am beſet on all Hands! Wretched, wretched Pamela! where ſhalt thou ex⯑pect [101] a Friend, if Mrs. Jervis joins to betray me thus? —She made ſo many Proteſtations, (telling me all, and that he own'd I had made him wipe his Eyes two or three times, and ſaid ſhe hop'd it would have a good Effect, and remember'd me, that I had ſaid nothing but would rather move Compaſſion than Reſentment) that I forgave her. But O! that I was ſafe from this Houſe! for never poor Creature ſure was ſo fluſter'd as I have been for ſo many Months together! — I am called down from this moſt tedious Scribble. I won⯑der what will next befal
Mrs. Jervis ſays, ſhe is ſure I ſhall have the Cha⯑riot to carry me home to you. Tho' this will look too great for me, yet it will ſhew as if I was not turn'd away quite in Diſgrace. The travel⯑ling Charriot is come from Lincolnſhire, and I fanſy I ſhall go in that; for the other is quite grand.
LETTER XXIX.
I Write again, tho', may-be, I ſhall bring it to you in my Pocket myſelf. For I ſhall have no Write⯑ing, nor Writing-time, I hope, when I come to you. This is Wedneſday Morning, and I ſhall, I hope, ſet out to you To-morrow Morning; but I have had more Trials, and more Vexation; but of another Complexion too a little, though all from the ſame Quarter.
[102]Yeſterday my Maſter, after he came from Hunt⯑ing, ſent for me. I went with great Terror; for I expected he would ſtorm, and be in a fine Paſſion with me for my Freedom of Speech before: So I was reſolv'd to begin firſt, with Submiſſion, to diſarm his Anger; and I fell upon my Knees as ſoon as I ſaw him; and I ſaid, Good Sir, let me beſeech you, as you hope to be forgiven yourſelf, and for the ſake of my dear good Lady your Mother, who recommended me to you with her laſt Words, to forgive me all my Faults: And only grant me this Favour, the laſt I have to ask you, that you will let me depart your Houſe with Peace and Quietneſs of Mind, that I may take ſuch a Leave of my dear Fellow-ſervants as befits me; and that my Heart be not quite broken.
He took me up, in a kinder manner, than ever I had known; and he ſaid, Shut the Door, Pamela, and come to me in my Cloſet: I want to have a little ſerious Talk with you. How can I, Sir, ſaid I, how can I? and wrung my Hands! O pray, Sir, let me go out of your Preſence, I beſeech you. By the God that made me, ſaid he, I'll do you no Harm. Shut the Parlour-door, and come to me in my Library.
He then went into his Cloſet, which is his Library, and full of rich Pictures beſides; a noble Apartment, tho' called a Cloſet, and next the private Garden, into which it has a Door that opens. I ſhut the Par⯑lour-door, as he bid me; but ſtood at it irreſolute. Place ſome Confidence in me ſurely, ſaid he, you may, when I have ſpoken thus ſolemnly. So I crept to⯑wards him with trembling Feet, and my Heart throb⯑bing through my Handkerchief. Come in, ſaid he, when I bid you. I did ſo. Pray, Sir, ſaid I, pity and ſpare me. I will, ſaid he, as I hop'd to be ſav'd. He ſat down upon a rich Settee; and took [103] hold of my Hand, and ſaid, Don't doubt me, Pa⯑mela. From this Moment I will no more conſider you as my Servant; and I deſire you'll not uſe me with Ingratitude for the Kindneſs I am going to ex⯑preſs towards you. This a little embolden'd me; and he ſaid, holding both my Hands in his, You have too much Wit and good Senſe not to diſcover, that I, in ſpite of my Heart, and all the Pride of it, cannot but love you. Yes, look up to me, my ſweet-fac'd Girl! I muſt ſay I love you; and have put on a Beha⯑viour to you, that was much againſt my Heart, in hopes to frighten you to my Purpoſes. You ſee I own it ingenuouſly; and don't play your Sex upon me for it.
I was unable to ſpeak, and he ſeeing me too much oppreſs'd with Confuſion to go on in that Strain, ſaid, Well, Pamela, let me know in what Situation of Life is your Father: I know he is a poor Man; but is he as low and as honeſt, as he was when my Mother took you?
Then I could ſpeak a little, and with a down Look, (and I felt my Face glow like Fire) I ſaid, Yes, Sir, as poor and as honeſt too; and that is my Pride. Says he, I will do ſomething for him, if it be not your Fault, and make all your Family happy. Ah! Sir, ſaid I, he is happier already than ever he can be, if his Daughter's Innocence is to be the Price of your Favour. And I beg you will not ſpeak to me on the only Side that can wound me. I have no Deſign of that ſort, ſaid he. O Sir, ſaid I, tell me not ſo, tell me not ſo! — 'Tis eaſy, ſaid he, for me to be the Making of your Father, without injuring you. Well, Sir, ſaid I, if this can be done, let me know how; and all I can do with Innocence ſhall be the Study and Practice of my Life.—But Oh! what can ſuch a poor Creature as I do, and do my Duty? — Said he, I would have you ſtay a Week or a Fortnight only, and behave yourſelf [104] with Kindneſs to me: I ſtoop to beg it of you, and you ſhall ſee all ſhall turn out beyond your Expectation. I ſee, ſaid he, you are going to anſwer otherwiſe than I would have you; and I begin to be vex'd I ſhould thus meanly ſue; and ſo I will ſay, that your Behavi⯑our before honeſt Longman, when I uſed you as I did, and you could ſo well have vindicated yourſelf, has quite charmed me. And tho' I am not pleaſed with all you ſaid Yeſterday while I was in the Cloſer, yet you have mov'd me more to admire you than be⯑fore; and I am awaken'd to ſee more Worthineſs in you, than ever I ſaw in any Lady in the World. All the Servants, from the higheſt to the loweſt, doat upon you, inſtead of envying you; and look upon you in ſo ſuperior a Light, as ſpeaks what you ought to be. I have ſeen more of your Letters than you imagine, (This ſurpris'd me!) and am quite overcome with your charming Manner of Writing, ſo free, ſo eaſy, and many of your Sentiments ſo much above your Years, and your Sex; and all put together, makes me, as I tell you, love you to Extravagance. Now, Pamela, when I have ſtoop'd ſo low as to ac⯑knowledge all this, oblige me only to ſtay another Week or Fortnight, to give me time to bring about ſome certain Affairs; and you ſhall ſee how much you ſhall find your Account in it.
I trembled to find my poor Heart giving Way.—O good Sir, ſaid I, ſpare a poor Maiden, that cannot look up to you, and ſpeak. My Heart is full: And why ſhould you wiſh to undo me!—Only oblige me, ſaid he, to ſtay a Fortnight longer, and John ſhall carry Word to your Father, that I will ſee him in the Time, either here or at the Swan in his Village. O Sir, ſaid I, my Heart will burſt; but on my bended Knees, I beg you to let me go To-morrow, as I de⯑ſign'd: And don't offer to tempt a poor Creature, [105] whoſe whole Will would be to do yours, if my Virtue would permit.—It ſhall permit it, ſaid he; for I intend no Injury to you, God is my Witneſs!—Impoſſible! ſaid I; I cannot, Sir, believe you, after what has paſſed: How many Ways are there to undo poor Creatures! Good God, protect me this one Time, and ſend me but to my dear Father's Cot in Safety! — Strange, damn'd Fate! ſays he, that when I ſpeak ſo ſolemnly, I can't be believ'd!—What ſhould I believe, Sir? ſaid I; what can I believe? What have you ſaid, but that I am to ſtay a Fortnight longer? and what then is to become of me? — My Pride of Birth and Fortune (damn them both! ſaid he, ſince they cannot obtain Credit with you, but muſt add to your Suſpicions) will not let me ſtoop at once; and I ask you but a Fort⯑night's Stay, that after this Declaration, I may pacify thoſe proud Demands upon me.
O how my Heart throbb'd! and I began, for I did not know what I did, to ſay the Lord's Prayer. None of your Beads to me, Pamela! ſaid he; thou art a perfect Nun, I think.
But I ſaid aloud, with my Eyes lifted up to Heaven, Lead me not into Temptation. But deliver me from Evil, O my good God! He hugg'd me in his Arms, and ſaid, Well, my dear Girl, then you ſtay this Fort⯑night, and you ſhall ſee what I will do for you.—I'll leave you a Moment, and walk into the next Room, to give you time to think of it, and to ſhew you I have no Deſign upon you. Well, this, I thought, did not look amiſs.
He went out, and I was tortur'd with twenty dif⯑ferent Thoughts in a Minute; ſometimes I thought, that to ſtay a Week or Fortnight longer in this Houſe to obey him, while Mrs. Jervis was with me could do no great Harm: But then, thought I, how [106] do I know what I may be able to do? I have with⯑ſtood his Anger; but may I not relent at his Kindneſs? —How ſhall I ſtand that! — Well, I hope, thought I, by the ſame protecting Grace in which I will always confide!—But then, what has he promiſed? Why he will make my poor Father and Mother's Life com⯑fortable. O, ſaid I to myſelf, that is a rich Thought; but let me not dwell upon it, for fear I ſhould indulge it to my Ruin.—What can he do for me, poor Girl as I am!—What can his Greatneſs ſtoop to! He talks, thought I, of his Pride of Heart, and Pride of Con⯑dition; O theſe are in his Head, and in his Heart too, or he would not confeſs them to me at ſuch an Inſtant. Well then, thought I, this can be only to ſeduce me! —He has promiſed nothing. — But I am to ſee what he will do, if I ſtay a Fortnight; and this Fortnight, thought I again, is no ſuch great Matter; and I ſhall ſee in a few Days, how he carries it. — But then, when I again reflected upon the Diſtance between him and me, and his now open Declaration of Love, as he called it, and that after this, he would talk with me on that Subject more plainly than ever, and I ſhould be leſs arm'd, may-be, to withſtand him; and then I bethought myſelf, why, if he meant no Diſhonour, he ſhould not ſpeak before Mrs. Jervis; and the odi⯑ous frightful Cloſet came again into my Head, and my narrow Eſcape upon it; and how eaſy it might be for him to ſend Mrs. Jervis and the Maids out of the way; and ſo that all the Miſchief he deſign'd me might be brought about in leſs than that Time; I reſolv'd to go away, and truſt all to Providence, and nothing to myſelf. And how ought I to be thankful for this Reſo⯑lution! — as you ſhall hear.
But juſt as I have writ to this Place, John ſends me Word, that he is going this Minute your Way; [107] and ſo I will ſend ſo far as I have written, and hope, by to-morrow Night, to ask your Bleſſings, at your own poor, but happy Abode, and tell you the reſt by Word of Mouth; and ſo I reſt, 'till then, and for ever,
LETTER XXX.
I Will continue my Writing ſtill, becauſe, may-be, I ſhall like to read it, when I am with you, to ſee what Dangers I have been enabled to eſcape; and tho' I bring it along with me.
I told you my Reſolution, my happy Reſolution, as I have Reaſon to think it: And juſt then he came in again, with great Kindneſs in his Looks, and ſaid, I make no Doubt, Pamela, you will ſtay this Fortnight to oblige me. I knew not how to frame my Words ſo as to deny, and yet not make him ſtorm. But, ſaid I, Forgive, Sir, your poor diſtreſſed Maiden. I know I cannot poſſibly deſerve any Favour at your Hands, conſiſtent with Virtue; and I beg you will let me go to my poor Father. Why, ſaid he, thou art the verieſt Fool that I ever knew. I tell you I will ſee your Father; I'll ſend for him hither to-morrow, in my travelling Chariot, if you will; and I'll let him know what I intend to do for him and you. What, Sir, may I ask you, can that be? Your Honour's noble Eſtate may eaſily make him happy, and not unuſe⯑ful perhaps to you in ſome reſpect or other. But what Price am I to pay for all this?—You ſhall be happy as you can wiſh, ſaid he, I do aſſure you: And here I will now give you this Purſe, in which [108] are Fifty Guineas, which I will allow your Father yearly, and find an Employ ſuitable to his Liking, to deſerve that and more: Pamela, he ſhall never want, depend upon it. I would have given you ſtill more for him; but that perhaps you'd ſuſpect I intended it as a Deſign upon you.—O Sir, ſaid I, take back your Gui⯑neas; I will not touch one, nor will my Father, I am ſure, till he knows what is to be done for them; and particularly what is to become of me. Why then, Pamela, ſaid he, ſuppoſe I find a Man of Probity and genteel Calling for a Husband for you, that ſhall make you a Gentlewoman as long as you live?—I want no Husband, Sir, ſaid I; for now I began to ſee him in all his black Colours!—But being in his Power ſo, I thought I would a little diſſemble. But, ſaid he, you are ſo pretty, that go where you will, you'll never be free from the Deſigns of ſome or other of our Sex; and I ſhall think I don't anſwer the Care of my dying Mo⯑ther for you, who committed you to me, if I don't provide you a Husband to protect your Virtue and your Innocence; and a worthy one I have thought of for you.
O black, perfidious Creature! thought I, what an Implement art thou in the Hands of Lucifer, to ruin the innocent Heart!—But ſtill I diſſembled; for I fear'd much both him and the Place I was in. But, whom, pray, Sir, have you thought of?—Why, ſaid be, young Mr. Williams, my Chaplain, in Lincoln⯑ſhire, who will make you happy. Does he know, Sir, ſaid I, any thing of your Honour's Intentions? — No, my Girl, ſaid he, and kiſſed me (much againſt my Will; for his very Breath was now Poiſon to me); but his Dependence upon my Favour, and your Beauty and Merit, will make him rejoice at my Kindneſs to him. Well, Sir, ſaid I, then it is time enough to conſider of this Matter; and this [109] cannot hinder me from going to my Father's: For what will ſtaying a Fortnight longer ſignify to this? Your Honour's Care and Goodneſs may extend to me there as well as here; and Mr. Williams, and all the World, ſhall know that I am not aſhamed of my Father's Poverty.
He would kiſs me again, and I ſaid, if I am to think of Mr. Williams, or any body, I beg you'll not be ſo free with me: That is not pretty, I'm ſure. Well, ſaid he, but you ſtay this next Fortnight, and in that time I'll have both Williams and your Father here; for I will have the Match concluded in my Houſe; and when I have brought it on, you ſhall ſettle it as you pleaſe together. Mean time take and ſend only theſe Fifty Pieces to your Father, as an Earneſt of my Favour, and I'll make you all happy.—Sir, ſaid I, I beg at leaſt two Hours to conſider of this. I ſhall, ſaid he, be gone out in one Hour; and I would have you write to your Father, what I propoſe, and John ſhall carry it on purpoſe, and he ſhall take the Purſe with him for the good old Man, if you approve it. Sir, ſaid I, I will then let you know in one Hour my Reſolution. Do ſo, ſaid he; and gave me another Kiſs, and let me go.
O how I rejoiced I had got out of his Clutches!— So I write you this, that you may ſee how Matters ſtand; for I am reſolved to come away if poſſible. Baſe, wicked, treacherous Gentleman, as he is!
So here was a Trap laid for your poor Pamela! I tremble to think of it! O what a Scene of Wic⯑kedneſs was here laid down for all my wretched Life! Black-hearted Wretch! how I hate him?—For at firſt, as you'll ſee by what I have written, he would have made me believe other Things; and this of Mr. Wil⯑liams, I believe, came into his Head after he walked out from his Cloſet, as I ſuppoſe, to give himſelf time [110] to think how to delude me better: But the Covering was now too thin, and eaſy to be ſeen through.
I went to my Chamber, and the firſt thing I did, was to write to him; for I thought it was beſt not to ſee him again, if I could help it; and I put it under his Parlour-door, after I had copy'd it, as follows:
‘'YOUR laſt Propoſal to me convinces me, that I ought not to ſtay; but to go to my Father, if it were but to ask his Advice about Mr. Williams. And I am ſo ſet upon it, that I am not to be per⯑ſuaded. So, honour'd Sir, with a thouſand Thanks for all Favours, I will ſet out to-morrow early; and the Honour you deſign'd me, as Mrs. Jervis tells me, of your Chariot, there will be no Occaſion for; becauſe I can hire, I believe, Farmer Brady's Chaiſe. So, begging you will not take it amiſs, I ſhall ever be’
‘'As to the Purſe, Sir, my poor Father, to be ſure, won't forgive me, if I take it, 'till he can know how to deſerve it. Which is impoſſible.'’
So he has juſt now ſent Mrs. Jervis to tell me, That ſince I am reſolv'd to go, go I may, and the tra⯑velling Chariot ſhall be ready; but it ſhall be worſe for me; for that he will never trouble himſelf about me as long as he lives. Well, ſo I get out of the Houſe, I care not; only I ſhould have been glad I could, with innocence, have made you, my dear Pa⯑rents, happy.
I cannot imagine the Reaſon of it, but John, who I thought was gone with my laſt, is but now going; and he ſends to know if I have any thing elſe to [111] carry. So I break off to ſend you this with the former.
I am now preparing for my Journey, and about taking Leave of my good Fellow-ſervants. And if I have not time to write, I muſt tell you the reſt, when I am ſo happy as to be with you.
One Word more, I ſlip in a Paper of Verſes, on my going; ſad poor Stuff! but as they come from me, you'll not diſlike them, may-be. I ſhew'd them to Mrs. Jewkes, and ſhe lik'd them; and took a Copy; and made me ſing them to her, and in the Green Room too; but I look'd into the Cloſet firſt. I will only add, that I am
Let me juſt ſay, That he has this Moment ſent me Five Guineas by Mrs. Jervis, as a Preſent for my Pocket: So I ſhall be very rich; for as ſhe brought them, I thought I might take them. He ſays he won't ſee me: And I may go when I will in the Morning. And Lincolnſhire Robin ſhall drive me; but he is ſo angry, he orders that no⯑body ſhall go out at the Door with me, not ſo much as into the Coach-yard. Well! I can't help it, not I▪ but does not this expoſe himſelf more than me?
But John waits, and I would have brought this and the other myſelf; but he ſays, he has put it up among other things, and ſo can take both as well as one.
John is very good, and very honeſt; I am under great Obligations to him! I'd give him a Guinea, now I'm ſo rich, if I thought he'd take it. I hear nothing of my Lady's Cloaths, and thoſe my Maſter gave me: For I told Mrs. Jervis, I would not take them; but I fanſy, by a Word or two that was dropt, they will be ſent after me, Dear Sirs! what a [112] rich Pamela you'll have, if they ſhould! But as I can't wear them, if they do, I don't deſire them; and, if I have them, will turn them into Money, as I can have Opportunity. Well, no more— I'm in a fearful Hurry!
VERSES on my going away.
HERE it is neceſſary to obſerve, that the fair Pa⯑mela's Trials were not yet over; but the worſt of all were to come, at a Time when ſhe thought them at an End, and that ſhe was returning to her Father: For when her Maſter found her Virtue was not to be ſub⯑du'd, and he had in vain try'd to conquer his Paſſion for her, being a Gentleman of Pleaſure and Intrigue, he had order'd his Lincolnſhire Coachman to bring his travelling Chariot from thence, not caring to truſt his Body Coachman, who, with the reſt of the Servants, ſo greatly lov'd and honour'd the fair Damſel; and having given him Inſtructions accordingly, and prohi⯑bited his other Servants, on Pretence of reſenting Pa⯑mela's Behaviour, from accompanying her any Part of the Way, he drove her Five Miles on the Way to her Father's; and then turning off, croſs'd the Country, and carry'd her onward towards his Lincolnſhire Eſtate.
[115]It is alſo to be obſerv'd, that the Meſſenger of her Letters to her Father, who ſo often pretended Buſi⯑neſs that way, was an Implement in his Maſter's Hands, and employ'd by him for that Purpoſe; and who always gave her Letters firſt to him, and his Maſter uſed to open and read them, and then ſend them on; by which means, as he hints to her, (as ſhe obſerves in one of her Letters, p. 104.) he was no Stranger to what ſhe wrote. Thus every way was the poor Virgin beſet: And the Whole will ſhew the baſe Arts of deſigning Men to gain their wicked Ends; and how much it behoves the Fair Sex to ſtand upon their Guard againſt their artful Contrivances, eſpecially when Riches and Power conſpire againſt Innocence and a low Eſtate.
A few Words more will be neceſſary to make the Sequel better underſtood. The intriguing Gentle⯑man thought fit, however, to keep back from her Father her Three laſt Letters; in which ſhe mentions his concealing himſelf to hear her partitioning out her Cloaths, his laſt Effort to induce her to ſtay a Fort⯑night, his pretended Propoſal of the Chaplain, and her Hopes of ſpeedily ſeeing them, as alſo her Verſes; and to ſend himſelf a Letter to her Father, which is as follows:
‘'YOU will wonder to receive a Letter from me. But I think I am obliged to let you know, that I have diſcover'd the ſtrange Correſpon⯑dence carry'd on between you and your Daughter, ſo injurious to my Honour and Reputation, and which, I think, you ſhould not have encourag'd, till you knew there were ſufficient Grounds for theſe Aſperſions, which ſhe ſo plentifuly caſts upon [116] me. Something poſſibly there might be in what ſhe has written from time to time; but believe me, with all her pretended Simplicity and Innocence, I ne⯑ver knew ſo much romantick Invention as ſhe is Miſtreſs of. In ſhort, the Girl's Head's turn'd by Romances, and ſuch idle Stuff to which ſhe has given herſelf up, ever ſince her kind Lady's Death. And ſhe aſſumes ſuch Airs, as if ſhe was a Mirror of Perfection, and believed every body had a Deſign upon her.’
‘'Don't miſtake me however; I believe her very honeſt, and very virtuous▪ but I have found out alſo, that ſhe is carrying on a ſort of Correſpond⯑ence, or Love Affair, with a young Clergyman, that I hope in time to provide for; but who, at pre⯑ſent, is deſtitute of any Subſiſtence but my Fa⯑vour: And what would be the Conſequence, can you think, of two young Folks, who have nothing in the World to truſt to of their own, to come together with a Family multiplying upon them, before they have Bread to eat?’
‘'For my Part, I have too much Kindneſs to them both, not to endeavour to prevent it, if I can: And for this Reaſon I have ſent her out of his Way for a little while, till I can bring them to better Conſi⯑deration; and I would not therefore have you be ſurpris'd you don't ſee your Daughter ſo ſoon as you might poſſibly expect.’
‘'Yet, I do aſſure you, upon my Honour, that ſhe ſhall be ſafe and inviolate; and I hope you don't doubt me, notwithſtanding any Airs ſhe may have given herſelf, upon my jocular Pleaſantry to her, and perhaps a little innocent Romping with her, ſo uſual with young Folks of the two Sexes, when they have been long acquainted, and grown up to⯑gether; for Pride is not my Talent.’
[117] ‘'As ſhe is a mighty Letter-writer, I hope ſhe has had the Duty to apprize you of her Intrigue with the young Clergyman; and I know not whether it meets with your Countenance: But now ſhe is ab⯑ſent for a little while, (for I know he would have follow'd her to your Village, if ſhe had gone home; and there perhaps they would have ruin'd one an⯑other, by marrying) I doubt not I ſhall bring him to ſee his Intereſt, and that he engages not before he knows how to provide for a Wife: And when that can be done, let them come together in God's Name, for me.’
‘'I expect not to be anſwered on this Head, but by your good Opinion, and the Confidence you may repoſe in my Honour; being’
‘'P. S. I find my Man John has been the Manager of the Correſpondence, in which ſuch Liber⯑ties have been taken with me. I ſhall ſoon let the ſaucy Fellow know how much I reſent his Part of the Affair, in a manner that becomes me. It is a hard thing, that a Man of my Character in the World, ſhould be uſed thus freely by his own Servants.'’
It is eaſy to gueſs at the poor old Man's Concern upon reading this Letter, from a Gentleman of ſo much Conſideration. He knew not what Courſe to take, and had no manner of Doubt of his poor Daughter's Innocence, and that foul Play was deſign'd her. Yet he ſometimes hoped the beſt, and was ready to believe the ſurmiſed Correſpondence between the Clergyman and her, having not receiv'd the Letters ſhe wrote, which would have clear'd up that Affair.
[118]But after all, he reſolved, as well to quiet his own as his Wife's Uneaſineſs, to undertake a Journey to the 'Squire's; and leaving his poor Wife to excuſe him to the Farmer who employ'd him, he ſet out that very Evening, late as it was; and travelling all Night, found himſelf, ſoon after Day-light, at the Gate of the Gentleman, before the Family was up: And there he ſat down to reſt himſelf, till he ſhould ſee ſomebody ſtirring.
The Grooms were the firſt he ſaw, coming out to water their Horſes; and he ask'd, in ſo diſtreſsful a manner, what was become of Pamela, that they thought him craſy; and ſaid, Why, what have you to do with Pamela, old Fellow? Get out of the Horſe's Way.—Where is your Maſter? ſaid the poor Man; pray, Gentlemen, don't be angry: My Heart's almoſt broke.—He never gives any thing at the Door, I aſſure you, ſays one of the Grooms; ſo you'll loſe your Labour.—I am not a Beggar yet, ſaid the poor old Man; I want nothing of him, but my Pamela!— O my Child! my Child!
I'll be hang'd, ſays one of them, if this is not Mrs. Pamela's Father!—Indeed, indeed, ſaid he, wring⯑ing his Hands, I am; and weeping, Where is my Child? Where is my Pamela?—Why, Father, ſaid one of them, we beg your Pardon; but ſhe is gone home to you! How long have you been come from home?— O! but laſt Night, ſaid he; I have travelled all Night! Is the 'Squire at home, or is he not?— Yes, but he is not ſtirring tho', ſaid the Grooms, as yet. Thank God for that, ſaid he! thank God for that! Then I hope I may be permitted to ſpeak to him anon. They asked him to go in, and he ſtept into the Stable, and ſat down on the Stairs there, wiping his Eyes, and ſighing ſo ſadly, that it grieved the Ser⯑vants to hear him.
[119]The Family was ſoon raiſed, with the Report of Pamela's Father coming to inquire after his Daughter; and the Maids would fain have had him go into the Kitchen. But Mrs. Jervis, having been told of his coming, aroſe, and haſten'd down to her Parlour, and took him in with her, and there heard all his ſad Story, and read the Letter. She wept bitterly; but yet en⯑deavour'd before him to hide her Concern; and ſaid, Well, Goodman Andrews, I cannot help weeping at your Grief; but I hope there is no Occaſion; let nobody ſee this Letter, whatever you do. I dare ſay your Daughter's ſafe.
Well, but, ſaid he, I ſee you, Madam, know no⯑thing about her!—If all was right, ſo good a Gentle⯑woman as you are, would not have been a Stranger to this. To be ſure you thought ſhe was with me!
Said ſhe, My Maſter does not always inform his Servants of his Proceedings; but you need not doubt his Honour. You have his Hand for it. And you may ſee he can have no Deſign upon her, becauſe he is not from hence, and does not talk of going hence. O that is all I have to hope for! ſaid he; that is all, indeed! — But, ſaid he—and was going on, when the Report of his coming had reach'd the 'Squire, who came down in his Morning-gown and Slippers, into the Parlour, where he and Mrs. Jervis were.
What's the Matter, Goodman Andrews? ſaid he, what's the Matter? O my Child! ſaid the good old Man, give me my Child, I beſeech you, Sir,— Why, I thought, ſays the 'Squire, that I had ſatisfied you about her; ſure you have not a Letter I ſent you, written with my own Hand. Yes, yes, but I have, Sir, ſaid he, and that brought me hither; and I have walked all Night. Poor Man! return'd he, with great ſeeming Compaſſion, I am ſorry for it, truly! Why your Daughter has made a ſtrange Rac⯑ket [120] in my Family; and if I thought it would have diſturbed you ſo much, I would have e'en let her gone home; but what I did was to ſerve her and you too. She is very ſafe, I do aſſure you, Good⯑man Andrews; And you may take my Honour for it, I would not injure her for the World. Do you think I would, Mrs Jervis? No, I hope not, Sir! ſaid ſhe. — Hope not! ſaid the poor Man, ſo do I; but pray, Sir, give me my Child; that is all I de⯑ſire; and I'll take care no Clergyman ſhall come near her.
Why, London is a great way off, ſaid the 'Squire, and I can't ſend for her back preſently. What, then, ſaid he, have you ſent my poor Pamela to London? I would not have it ſaid ſo, ſays the 'Squire; but I aſſure you, upon my Honour, ſhe is quite ſafe and ſatisfied, and will quickly inform you of as much by Letter. I am ſure ſhe is in a reputable Family, no leſs than a Biſhop's; and will wait on his Lady till I get this Matter over, that I mentioned to you
O how ſhall I know this? reply'd he — What! ſaid the 'Squire, pretending Anger, am I to be doubted? — Do you believe I can have any View upon your Daughter? And if I had, do you think I would take ſuch Methods as theſe to effect it? Why, Man, you know not whom you talk to! —O Sir, ſaid he, I beg your Pardon; but conſider, my dear Child is in the Caſe: Let me know what Biſhop, and where; and I will travel to London barefoot, to ſee my Daughter, and then ſhall be ſatisfied.
Why, Goodman Andrews, I think thou haſt read Romances as well as thy Daughter, and thy Head's turn'd with them. May I not have my Word taken? Do you think, once more, I would offer any thing to your Daughter? Is there any thing looks like it?— Pr'ythee, Man, conſider a little who I am; and if I am not to be believ'd, what ſignifies talking? [121] Why, Sir, ſaid he, pray forgive me; but there is no Harm to ſay, What Biſhop's, or whereabouts? What, and ſo you'd go troubling his Lordſhip with your impertinent Fears and Stories! Will you be ſatisfied if you have a Letter from her within a Week, it may be leſs, if ſhe be not negligent, to aſſure you all is well with her? Why, that, ſaid the poor Man, will be a Comfort. Well then, ſaid the Gentleman, I can't anſwer for her Negligence, if ſhe don't; but ſhe will ſend a Letter to you, Mrs. Jervis; for I de⯑ſire not to ſee it; I have had Trouble enough about her already; and be ſure you ſend it by a Man and Horſe the Moment you receive it. To be ſure I will, ſaid ſhe. Thank your Honour, ſaid the good Man: And then I muſt wait with as much Patience as I can for a Week, which will be a Year to me.
I tell you, ſaid the Gentleman, it muſt be her own Fault if ſhe don't; for 'tis what I inſiſted upon for my own Reputation; and I ſhan't ſtir from this Houſe, I aſſure you, till ſhe is heard from, and that to Satiſ⯑faction. God bleſs your Honour, ſaid the poor Man, as you ſay and mean Truth. Amen, Amen, Good⯑man Andrews, ſaid he; you ſee I am not afraid to ſay Amen. So, Mrs. Jervis, make the good Man as welcome as you can; and let me have no Uproar about the Matter.
He then, whiſpering her, bid her give him a couple of Guineas to bear his Charges home; telling him, he ſhould be welcome to ſtay there till the Letter came, if he would; and he ſhould be a Witneſs, that he intended honourably, and not to ſtir from his Houſe for one while.
The poor old Man ſtaid and din'd with Mrs. Jervis, with ſome tolerable Eaſe of Mind, in hopes to hear from his beloved Daughter in a few Days; and then accepting the Preſent, return'd for his own Houſe; and reſolv'd to be as patient as poſſible for a few Days.
[122]Mean time Mrs. Jervis, and all the Family, were in the utmoſt Grief for the Trick put upon the poor Pamela and ſhe and the Steward repreſented it to their Maſter in as moving Terms as they durſt: But were forc'd to reſt ſatisfy'd with his general Aſſurances of intending her no Harm; which, however, Mrs. Jervis little believ'd, from the Pretence he had made in his Letter, of the Correſpondence between Pamela and the young Parſon, which ſhe knew to be all In⯑vention, tho' ſhe durſt not ſay ſo.
But the Week after ſhe went away, they were made a little more eaſy, by the following Letter, brought by an unknown Hand, and left for Mrs. Jervis; which how procur'd, will be ſhewn in the Sequel.
‘'I Have been vilely trick'd, and, inſtead of being driven by Robin to my dear Father's, I am car⯑ry'd off, to where I have no Liberty to tell. How⯑ever, I am at preſent not uſed hardly in the main; and I write to beg of you to let my dear Father and Mother (whoſe Hearts muſt be well-nigh broken) know, That I am well, and that I am, and, by the Grace of God, ever will be, their dutiful and ho⯑neſt Daughter, as well as’
‘'I muſt neither ſend Date nor Place. But have moſt ſolemn Aſſurances of honourable Uſage. This is the only Time my low Eſtate has been troubleſome to me, ſince it has ſubjected me to the Frights I have undergone. Love to your good Self, and all my dear Fellow-ſervants. Adieu! Adieu! But pray for poor PAMELA.'’
[123]This, tho' it quieted not intirely their Apprehen⯑ſions, was ſhewn to the whole Family, and to the Gentleman himſelf, who pretended not to know how it came; and Mrs. Jervis ſent it away to the good old Folks, who at firſt ſuſpected it was forged, and not their Daughter's Hand; but finding the contrary, they were a little eaſier to hear ſhe was alive and well. And having inquir'd of all their Acquaintance, what could be done, and no one being able to put them in a Way how to proceed, with Effect, on ſo extraor⯑dinary an Occaſion, againſt ſo rich and daring a Gen⯑tleman; and being afraid to make Matters worſe, (tho' they ſaw plainly enough, that by this Letter ſhe was in no Biſhop's Family, and ſo miſtruſted all the reſt of his Story) they apply'd themſelves to Prayers for their poor Daughter, and for a happy Iſſue to an Affair that almoſt diſtracted them.
We ſhall now leave the honeſt old Pair, praying for their dear Pamela; and return to the Account ſhe herſelf gives of all this; having written it Journal-wiſe, to amuſe and employ her Time, in hopes ſome Opportunity might offer to ſend is to her Friends, and, as was her conſtant View, that ſhe might after⯑wards thankfully look back upon the Dangers ſhe had eſcaped, when they ſhould be happily over-blown, as in Time ſhe hoped they would be, and that then ſhe might examine, and either approve of, or repent for, her own Conduct in them.
LETTER XXXI.
LET me write and bewail my miſerable hard Fate, tho' I have no Hope, that what I write will be convey'd to your Hands!— I have now nothing [124] to do but write, and weep, and fear,and pray! But yet what can I hope for, when I ſeem to be devoted, as a Victim to the Will of a wicked Violator of all the Laws of God and Man?—But, gracious Heaven, forgive me my Raſhneſs and Deſpondency! O let me not ſin againſt thee; for thou beſt knoweſt what is fitteſt for thy poor Handmaid:—And as thou ſuffereſt not thy poor Creatures to be tempted above what they can bear, I will reſign to thy good Pleaſure. And ſtill, I hope, deſperate as my Condition ſeems, that as thoſe Trials are not of my own ſeeking, nor the Effects of ray Preſumption and Vanity, I ſhall be enabled to overcome them, and, in God's own good Time, be delivered from them.
Thus do I pray, imperfectly as I am forced by my diſtracting Fears and Apprehenſions; and O join with me, my dear Parents!—But, alas! how can you know, how can I reveal to you, the dreadful Situa⯑tion of your poor Daughter? The unhappy Pa⯑mela may be undone, (which God forbid, and ſooner deprive me of Life I) before you can know my hard Lot.
O the unparallel'd Wickedneſs, Stratagems, and Devices of thoſe who call themſelves Gentlemen, and pervert the Deſign of Providence, in giving them ample Means to do Good, to their own Perdition, and to the Ruin of poor oppreſſed Innocence!
But let me tell you what has befallen me; and yet, how ſhall you receive it? For I have now no honeſt John to carry my Letters to you; but am likely to be watch'd in all my Steps, till my hard Fate ripens his wicked Projects for my Ruin. I will every Day now write my ſad State; and ſome way, perhaps, may be open'd to ſend the melancholy Scribble to you. But if you know it, what will it do but aggravate your Troubles? For, O! what can the [125] abject Poor do againſt the mighty Rich, when they are determined to oppreſs?
Well, but I will proceed to write what I had hoped to tell you in a few Hours, that I believed I ſhould receive your grateful Bleſſings, on my Return to you from ſo many Hardſhips.
I will begin here with my Account from the laſt Letter I wrote you, in which I incloſed my poor Stuff of Verſes; and continue it at times, as I have Oppor⯑tunity; tho', as I ſaid, I know not how it can reach you now.
The long hop'd-for Thurſday Morning came, that I was to ſet out. I had taken my Leave of my Fel⯑low-ſervants over-night; and a mournful Leave it was to us all: For Men, as well as Women-ſervants, wept much to part with me; and, for my Part, I was overwhelm'd with Tears, and the affecting Inſtances of their Eſteem. They all would have made me little Preſents, as Tokens of their Love; but I would not take any thing from the lower Servants, to be ſure. But Mr. Longman made me a Preſent of ſeveral Yards of Holland, and a Silver Snuff-box, and a Gold Ring, which he deſir'd me to keep for his ſake; and he wept over me; but ſaid, I am ſure, ſo good a Maiden God will bleſs; and tho' you return to your poor Father again, and his low Eſtate, yet Providence will find you out; and one Day, tho' I mayn't live to ſee it, you will be rewarded.
I ſaid, O dear Mr. Longman, you make me too rich, and too mody; and yet I muſt be a Beggar before my Time: For I ſhall want often to be ſcribbling, (little thinking it would be my only Employment ſo ſoon) and I will beg you, Sir, to favour me with ſome Pa⯑per; and as ſoon as I get home, I will write you a Letter, to thank you for all your Kindneſs to me; and a Letter to good Mrs. Jervis too.
[126]This was lucky; for I ſhould have had none elſe, but at Pleaſure of my rough-natur'd Governeſs, as I may call her; but now I can write to eaſe my Mind, tho' I can't ſend it to you; and write what I pleaſe, for ſhe knows not how well I am provided. For good Mr. Longman gave me above forty Sheets of Paper, and a dozen Pens, and a little Phial of Ink; which laſt I wrapt in Paper, and put in my Pocket; and ſome Wax and Wafers.
O dear Sir, ſaid I, you have ſet me up. How ſhall I requite you? He ſaid, By a Kiſs, my fair Miſtreſs; and I gave it very willingly; for he is a good old Man.
Rachel and Hannah cry'd ſadly when I took my Leave, and Jane, who ſometimes uſed to be a little croſſiſh, and Cicely too, wept ſadly, and ſaid they would pray for me; but poor Jane, I doubt, ſeldom ſays her Prayers for herſelf: More's the Pity!
Then Arthur the Gardener, our Robin the Coach⯑man, and Lincolnſhire Robin too, who was to carry me, were very civil; and both had Tears in their Eyes; which I thought then very good-natur'd in Lin⯑colnſhire Robin, becauſe he knew but little of me.— But ſince, I find he might well be concern'd; for he had then his Inſtructions, it ſeems, and knew how he was to be a Means to entrap me.
Then our other three Footmen, Harry, Iſaac, and Benjamin, and Grooms, and Helpers, were very much affected likewiſe; and the poor little Scullion-boy, Tommy, was ready to run over for Grief.
They had got all together over-night, expecting to be differently employ'd in the Morning; and they all begg'd to ſhake Hands with me, and I kiſs'd the Maidens, and pray'd to God to bleſs them all; and thanked them for all their Love and Kindneſſes to [127] me: And indeed I was forced to leave them ſooner than I would, becauſe I could not ſtand it: Indeed I could not. Harry (I could not have thought it; for he is a little wildiſh, they ſay) cry'd till he ſobb'd again. John, poor honed John, was not then come back from you. But as for the Butler, Mr. Jonathan, he could not ſtay in Company.
I thought to have told you a deal about this; but I have worſe things to employ my Thoughts.
Mrs. Jervis, good Mrs. Jervis, cry'd all Night long; and I comforted her all I could: and ſhe made me promiſe, that if my Maſter went to London to attend Parliament, or to Lincolnſhire, I would come and ſtay a Week with her. And ſhe would have given me Money; but: I would not take it.
Well, next Morning came, and I wonder'd I ſaw nothing of poor honeſt John; for I waited to take Leave of him, and thank him for all his Civilities to me and to you: But I ſuppoſe he was ſent further by my Maſter, and ſo could not return; and I deſired to be remember'd to him.
And when Mrs. Jervis told me, with a ſad Heart, the Chariot was ready, with four Horſes to it, I was juſt upon ſinking into the Ground, tho' I wanted to be with you.
My Maſter was above Stairs, and never asked to ſee me. I was glad of it in the main; but he knew, falſe Heart as he is! that I was not to be out of his Reach.—O preſerve me. Heaven, from his Power, and from his Wickedneſs!
Well, they were not ſuffer'd to go with me one Step, as I writ to you before; for he ſtood at the Win⯑dow to ſee me go. And in the Paſſage to the Gate, out of his Sight, there they ſtood all of them, in two Rows; and we could ſay nothing on both Sides, but, [128] God bleſs you! and God bleſs you! But Harry carried my own Bundle, my third Bundle, as I was uſed to call it, to the Coach, and ſome Plum-cakes, and Diet-bread, made for me over-night, and ſome Sweat-meats, and ſix Bottles of Canary Wine, which Mrs. Jervis would make me take in a Basket, to chear our Hearts now-and-then when we got toge⯑ther, as ſhe ſaid. And I kiſſed all the Maids again, and ſhook Hands with the Men again; but Mr. Jona⯑than and Mr. Longman were not there; and then I tript down Steps to the Chariot, Mrs. Jervis crying moſt ſadly.
I look'd up when I got to the Chariot, and I ſaw my Maſter at the Window, in his Gown; and I curt'ſy'd three times to him very low, and pray'd for him with my Hands lifted up; for I could not ſpeak; indeed I was not able. And he bow'd his Head to me, which made me then very glad he would take ſuch Notice of me; and in I ſtept, and was ready to burſt with Grief; and could only, till Robin began to drive, wave my white Handkerchief to them, wet with my Tears. And at laſt away he drove, Jehu-like, as they ſay, out of the Court-yard: And I too ſoon found I had Cauſe for greater and deeper Grief.
Well, ſaid I to myſelf, at this rate I ſhall ſoon be with my dear Father and Mother; and till I had got, as I ſuppoſed, half-way, I thought of the good Friends I had left. And when, on ſtopping for a little Bait to the Horſes, Robin told me, I was near half-way, I thought it was high time to wipe my Eyes, and think to whom I was going; as then, alack for me! I thought. So I began to ponder what a Meeting I ſhould have with you; how glad you'd both be to ſee me come ſafe and innocent to you, after all my Dangers; and ſo I began to comfort my⯑ſelf, and to baniſh the other gloomy Side from my Mind; tho', too, it return'd now-and-then; for [129] I ſhould be ingrateful not to love them, for their Love.
Well, I believe, I ſet out about Eight o'Clock in the Morning; and I wonder'd, and wonder'd, when it was about Two, as I ſaw by a Church-dial in a little Village we paſs'd thro', that I was ſtill more and more out of my Knowledge. Hey-day! thought I, to drive this ſtrange Pace, and to be ſo long a-going little more than twenty Miles, is very odd! But, to be ſure, thought I, Robin knows the Way.
At laſt he ſtopt, and look'd about him, as if he was at a Loſs for the Way; and I ſaid, Mr. Robert, ſure you are out of the Way!—I'm afraid I am, ſaid he. But it can't be much; I'll ask the firſt Perſon I ſee. Pray do, ſaid I; and he gave his Horſes a Mouthful of Hay; and I gave him ſome Cake, and two Glaſſes of Canary Wine; and ſtopt about half an Hour in all. Then he drove on very faſt again.
I had ſo much to think of, of the Dangers I now doubted not I had eſcaped, of the loving Friends I had left, and my beſt Friends I was going to, and the many things I had to relate to you; that I the leſs thought of the Way, till I was ſtartled out of my Meditations by the Sun beginning to ſet, and ſtill the Man driving on, and his Horſes ſweating and foaming; and then I began to be alarm'd all at once, and call'd to him; and he ſaid he had horrid ill Luck, for he had come ſeveral Miles out of the Way, but was now right, and ſhould get in ſtill before it was quite dark. My Heart began then to miſgive me a little, and I was very much fatigued; for I had no Sleep for ſeveral Nights before, to ſignify; and at laſt I ſaid, Pray, Mr. Robert, there is a Town before us; what do you call it?— If we are ſo much out of the Way, we had better put up there; for the Night comes on apace: And, Lord protect me! thought I, I ſhall [130] have new Dangers, may-hap, to encounter with the Man, who have eſcaped the Maſter — little thinking of the baſe Contrivance of the latter. Says he, I am juſt there, 'tis but a Mile on one Side of the Town before us — Nay, ſaid I, I may be miſtaken; for it is a good while ſince I was this Way; but I am ſure the Face of the Country here is nothing like what I remember it.
He pretended to be much out of Humour with himſelf for miſtaking the Way, and at laſt ſtopt at a Farm-houſe, about two Miles beyond the Village I had ſeen; and it was then almoſt dark, and he alighted, and ſaid, We muſt make ſhift here; for I am quite out.
Lord, thought I, be good to the poor Pamela! More Trials ſtill!—What will befal me next?
The Farmer's Wife, and Maid, and Daughter, came out; and the Wife ſaid, What brings you this Way at this time of Night, Mr. Robert? And with a Lady too?—Then I began to be frighten'd out of my Wits; and laying Middle and both Ends together, I fell a crying, and ſaid, God give me Patience! I am undone for certain I — Pray, Miſtreſs, ſaid I, do you know Eſquire B. of Bedfordſhire?
The wicked Coachman would have prevented the anſwering me; but the ſimple Daughter ſaid, Know his Worſhip! yes, ſurely! why he is my Father's Landlord!—Well, ſaid I, then I am undone, undone for ever!—O wicked Wretch! what have I done to you, ſaid I to the Coachman, to ſerve me thus?— Vile Tool of a wicked Maſter! —Faith, ſaid the Fel⯑low, I'm ſorry this Task was put upon me: But I could not help it. But make the beſt of it now; here are very civil, reputable Folks; and you'll be ſafe here, I'll aſſure you.—Let me get out, ſaid I, and I'll walk back to the Town we came through, late as it is:—For I will not enter here.
[131]Said the Farmer's Wife, You'll be very well uſed here, I'll aſſure you, young Gentlewoman, and have better Conveniencies than any-where in the Village. I matter not Conveniencies, ſaid I: I am betray'd and undone! As you have a Daughter of your own, pity me, and let me know, if your Landlord, as you call him, be here!— No, I'll aſſure you, he is not, ſaid ſhe.
And then came the Farmer, a good-like ſort of Man, grave, and well-behav'd; and he ſpoke to me in ſuch ſort, as made me a little pacify'd; and ſeeing no Help for it, I went in; and the Wife immediately conducted me up Stairs to the beſt Apartment, and told me, that was mine as long as I ſtaid; and nobody ſhould come near me but when I call'd. I threw myſelf on the Bed in the Room, tir'd, and frighten'd to Death almoſt, and gave way to the moſt exceſſive Fit of Grief that I ever had.
The Daughter came up, and ſaid, Mr. Robert had given her a Letter to give me; and there it was. I raiſed myſelf, and ſaw it was the Hand and Seal of the wicked Wretch my Maſter, directed To Mrs. Pa⯑mela Andrews.—This was a little better than to have him here; tho', if he had, he muſt have been brought thro' the Air; for I thought I was.
The good Woman (for I began to ſee Things about a little reputable, and no Guile appearing in them, but rather a Face of Grief for my Grief) offered me a Glaſs of ſome cordial Water, which I accepted, for I was ready to ſink; and then I ſat up in a Chair a little, tho' very faintiſh: And they brought me two Candles, and lighted a Bruſh-wood Fire; and ſaid, If I call'd, I ſhould be waited upon inſtantly; and ſo left me to ruminate on my ſad Condition, and to read my Letter, which I was not able to do pre⯑ſently. After I had a little come to myſelf, I found it to contain theſe Words:
‘'THE Paſſion I have for you, and your Obſtinacy, have conſtrain'd me to act by you in a manner that I know will occaſion you great Trouble and Fatigue, both of Mind and Body. Yet, forgive me, my dear Girl; for though I have taken this Step, I will, by all that's good and holy! uſe you honourably. Suffer not your Fears to tranſport you to a Behaviour that will be diſreputable to us both. For the Place where you'll receive this, is a Farm that belongs to me; and the People civil, honeſt and obliging.’
‘'You will by this time be far on your way to the Place I have allotted for your Abode for a few Weeks, till I have manag'd ſome Affairs, that will make me ſhew myſelf to you in a much different Light, than you may poſſibly apprehend from this raſh Action. And to convince you, that I mean you no Harm, I do aſſure you, that the Houſe you are going to, ſhall be ſo much at your Command, that even I myſelf will not approach it without Leave from you. So make yourſelf eaſy; be diſ⯑creet and prudent; and a happier Turn ſhall reward theſe your Troubles, than you may at preſent ap⯑prehend.’
‘'Mean time I pity the Fatigue you will have, if this comes to your Hand in the Place I have directed: And will write to your Father, to ſatisfy him, that nothing but what is honourable ſhall be offer'd to you, by’
‘'Don't think hardly of poor Robin: You have ſo poſſeſs'd all my Servants in your Favour that [133] I find they had rather ſerve you than me; and 'tis reluctantly the Fellow undertook this Task; and I was forced to ſubmit to aſſure him of my honourable Intentions to you, which I am fully reſolv'd to make good, if you com⯑pel me not to a Conduct abhorrent to me at preſent.'’
I but too well apprehended, that this Letter was only to pacify me for the preſent; but as my Danger was not ſo immediate as I had Reaſon to dread, and he had promiſed to forbear coming to me, and to write to you, my dear Parents, to quiet your Con⯑cern, I was a little more eaſy than I was before: And I made ſhift to eat a little Bit of boil'd Chicken they had got for me, and drank a Glaſs of my Sack, and made each of them do ſo too.
But after I had ſo done, I was again a little flu⯑ſter'd; for in came the Coachman with the Look of a Hangman, I thought, and Madam'd me up ſtrangely; telling me, he would beg me to get ready to purſue my Journey by Five in the Morning, or elſe he ſhould be late in. I was quite griev'd at this; for I began not to diſlike my Company, conſidering how Things ſtood, and was in Hopes to get a Party among them, and ſo to put myſelf into any worthy Protection in the Neighbourhood, rather than go forward.
When he withdrew, I began to tamper with the Farmer and his Wife. But, alas! they had had a Letter deliver'd them at the ſame time I had; ſo ſecurely had Lucifer put it into his Head to do his Work; and they only ſhook their Heads, and ſeem'd to pity me; and ſo I was forced to give over that Hope.
However, the good Farmer ſhew'd me his Letter; which I copy'd as follows: For it diſcovers the deep [134] Arts of this wicked Maſter; and how reſolv'd he ſeems to be on my Ruin, by the Pains he took to de⯑prive me of all Hopes of freeing myſelf from his Power.
‘'I Send to your Houſe, for one Night only, a young Gentlewoman, much againſt her Will, who has deeply embark'd in a Love Affair, which will be her Ruin, as well as the Perſon's to whom ſhe wants to betroth herſelf. I have, to oblige her Father, order'd her to be carry'd to one of my Houſes, where ſhe will be well us'd, to try if by Abſence, and Expoſtulation with both, they can be brought to know their own Intereſt. And I am ſure you will uſe her kindly for my ſake. For, excepting this Matter, which ſhe will not own, ſhe does not want Prudence and Diſcretion. I will acknow⯑ledge any Trouble you ſhall be at in this Matter, the firſt Opportunity; and am’
He had ſaid, too cunningly for me, that I would not own this pretended Love Affair; ſo that he had provided them not to believe me, ſay what I would; and as they were his Tenants, who all love him, (for he has ſome good Qualities, and ſo he had need!) I ſaw all my Plot cut out, and ſo was forc'd to ſay the leſs.
I wept bitterly, however; for I found he was too hard for me, as well in his Contrivances as Riches; and ſo had recourſe again to my only Refuge, that God, who takes the innocent Heart into his Protection, and is alone able to baffle and confound the Devices of the Mighty. Nay, the [135] Farmer was ſo prepoſſeſs'd with the Contents of his Letter to him, that he began to praiſe his Care and Concern for me, and to adviſe me againſt en⯑tertaining Addreſſes without my Friends Advice and Conſent, and made me the Subject of a Leſſon for his Daughter's Improvement. So I was glad to ſhut up this Diſcourſe; for I ſaw I was not likely to be believ'd.
I ſent, however, to tell my Driver, that I was ſo fatigued, I could not ſet out ſo ſoon the next Morn⯑ing. But he inſiſted upon it, and ſaid. It would make my Day's Journey the lighter; and I found he was a more faithful Servant to his Maſter, notwithſtanding what he wrote of his Reluctance, than I could have wiſh'd: So I ſaw ſtill more and more, that all was deep Diſſimulation, and Contrivance worſe and worſe.
Indeed I might have ſhewn them his Letter to me, as a full Confutation of his to them; but I ſaw no Probability of engaging them in my Behalf; and ſo thought it ſignify'd little, as I was to go away ſo ſoon, to enter more particularly into the Matter with them; and beſides, I ſaw they were not inclinable to let me ſtay longer for fear of diſobliging him: So I went to Bed, but had very little Reſt: And they would make their Servant-maid bear me Company in the Chariot five Miles, early in the Morning, and ſhe was to walk back.
I had contriv'd in my Thoughts, when I was on my Way in the Chariot, on Friday Morning, that when we came into ſome Town, to bait, as he muſt do for the Horſes ſake, I would, at the Inn, apply myſelf, if I ſaw I any way could, to the Miſtreſs of the Inn, and tell her the Caſe, and refuſe to go far⯑ther, having nobody but this wicked Coachman to contend with.
[136]Well, I was very full of this Project, and was in great Hopes, ſome-how or other, to extricare myſelf this way. But, Oh! the artful Wretch had provided for even this laſt Reſource of mine; for when we came to put up at a large Town on the Way, to eat a Morſel for Dinner, and I was fully reſolv'd to execure my Project, who ſhould be at the Inn that he put up at, but the wicked Mrs. Jewkes expecting me! And her Siſter-in-law was the Miſtreſs of it; and ſhe had provided a little Entertainment for me.
And this I found, when I deſir'd, as ſoon as I came in, to ſpeak with the Miſtreſs of the Houſe. She came to me, and I ſaid, I am a poor unhappy young Body, that want your Advice and Aſſiſtance; and you ſeem to be a good ſort of Gentlewoman, that would aſſiſt an oppreſſed innocent Perſon. Yes, Madam, ſaid ſhe, I hope you gueſs right, and I have the Happineſs to know ſomething of the Matter be⯑fore you ſpeak. Pray call my Siſter Jewkes.— Jewkes! Jewkes! thought I; I have heard of that Name; I don't like it.
Then the wicked Creature appear'd, whom I had never ſeen but once before, and I was terrify'd out of my Wits. No Stratagem, thought I, not one! for a poor innocent Girl; but every thing to turn out againſt me; that is hard indeed!
So I began to pull in my Horns, as they ſay; for I ſaw I was now worſe off than at the Farmer's.
The naughty Woman came up to me with an Air of Confidence, and kiſs'd me: See, Siſter, ſaid ſhe, here's a charming Creature! Would ſhe not tempt the beſt Lord in the Land to run away with her? O frightfull thought I; here's an Avowal of the Mat⯑ter at once: I am now gone, that's certain. And ſo was quite ſilent and confounded; and ſeeing no Help for it, (for ſhe would not part with me out of her Sight) I was forc'd to ſet out with her in the [137] Chariot; for ſhe came thither on Horſeback with a Man-ſervant, who rode by us the reſt of the Way, with her Horſe. And now I gave over all Thoughts of Redemption, and was in a deſponding Condition indeed.
Well, thought I, here are ſtrange Pains taken to ruin a poor innocent, helpleſs, and even worthleſs young Body. This Plot is laid too deep, and has been too long a hatching, to be baffled, I fear. But then I put my Truſt in God, who I knew was able to do every thing for me, when all other poſſible Means ſhould fail: And in Him I was reſolv'd to confide.
You may ſee—(Yet, oh! that kills me; for I know not whether ever you may ſee what I now write, or no — Elſe you may ſee) what ſort of Woman this Mrs, Jewkes is, compar'd to good Mrs. Jervis, by this—
Every now-and-then ſhe would be ſtaring in my Face, in the Chariot, and ſqueezing my Hand, and ſaying, Why, you are very pretty, my ſilent Dear! And once ſhe offer'd to kiſs me. But I ſaid, I don't like this Sort of Carriage, Mrs. Jewkes; it is not like two Perſons of one Sex. She fell a laughing very confidently, and ſaid, That's prettily ſaid, I vow! Then thou hadſt rather be kiſs'd by the other Sex? 'Ifackins, I commend thee for that!
I was ſadly tiez'd with her Impertinence, and bold Way; but no wonder; ſhe was an Inn-keeper's Houſe-keeper before ſhe came to my Maſter; and thoſe Sort of Creatures don't want Confidence, you know. And indeed ſhe made nothing to talk boldly on twenty Occaſions, and ſaid two or three times, when ſhe ſaw the Tears every now-and-then, as we rid, trickle down my Checks, I was ſorely hurt, truly, to have the handſomeſt and fineſt young Gen⯑tleman in five Counties in Love with me!
[138]So I find I am got into the Hands of a wicked Pro⯑cureſs, and if I was not ſafe with good Mrs. Jervis, and where every body lov'd me, what a dreadful Proſpect have I now before me, in the Hands of a Woman that ſeems to delight in Filthineſs!
O dear Sirs! what ſhall I do! What ſhall I do!— Surely, I ſhall never be equal to all theſe Things!
About Eight at Night, we enter'd the Court-yard of this handſome, large, old, and lonely Manſion, that looks made for Solitude and Miſchief, as I thought, by its Appearance, with all its brown nodding Horrors of lofty Elms and Pines about it: And here, ſaid I to myſelf, I fear, is to be the Scene of my Ruin, unleſs God protect me, who is all-ſufficient!
I was very ſick at entering it, partly from Fatigue, and partly from Dejection of Spirits: And Mrs. Jewkes got me ſome mull'd Wine, and ſeem'd mighty officious to welcome me thither. And while ſhe was abſent, ordering the Wine, the wicked Robin came in to me, and ſaid, I beg a thouſand Pardons for my Part in this Affair, ſince I ſee your Grief, and your Diſtreſs; and I do aſſure you, that I am ſorry it fell to my Task.
Mighty well, Mr. Robert! ſaid I; I never ſaw an Execution but once, and then the Hangman ask'd the poor Creature's Pardon, and wip'd his Mouth, as you do, and pleaded his Duty, and then calmly tuck'd up the Criminal. But I am no Criminal, as you all know: And if I could have thought it my Duty to obey a wicked Maſter, in his unlawful Commands, I had ſav'd you all the Merit of this vile Service.
I am ſorry, ſaid he, you take it ſo. But every body don't think alike. Well, ſaid I, you have, done your Part, Mr. Robert, towards my Ruin, very [139] faithfully; and will have Cauſe to be ſorry, may-be, at the Long-run, when you ſhall ſee the Miſchief that comes of it.—Your Eyes were open, and you knew I was to be carry'd to my Father's, and that I was barbarouſly trick'd and betray'd; and I can only, once more, thank you for your Part of it. God for⯑give you!
So he went away a little ſad. What have you ſaid to Robin, Madam? ſaid Mrs. Jewkes (who came in as he went out): The poor Fellow's ready to cry. I need not be afraid of your following his Example, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I: I have been telling him, that he has done his Part to my Ruin: And he now can't help it! So his Repentance does me no Good; I wiſh it may him.
I'll aſſure you, Madam, ſaid ſhe, I ſhould be as ready to cry as he, if I ſhould do you any Harm. It is not in his Power to help it now, ſaid I; but your Part is to come, and you may chuſe whether you'll contribute to my Ruin or not.—Why, look ye, look ye, Madam, ſaid ſhe, I have a great Notion of doing my Duty to my Maſter; and therefore you may de⯑pend upon it, if I can do that, and ſerve you, I will: But, you muſt think, if your Deſire, and his Will, come to claſh once, I ſhall do as he bids me, let it be what it will.
Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, don't Madam me ſo: I am but a ſilly poor Girl, ſet up by the Gambol of Fortune, for a May-game; and now am to be Something, and now Nothing, juſt as that thinks fit to ſport with me: And let you and me talk upon a Foot together; for I am a Servant inferior to you, and ſo much the more as I am turn'd out of Place.
Ay, ay, ſays ſhe, I underſtand ſomething of the Matter; you have ſo great Power over my Maſter, that you may be ſoon Miſtreſs of us all; and ſo I [140] would oblige you, if I could. And I muſt and will call you Madam; for I am inſtructed to ſhew you all Reſpect, I'll aſſure you.
Who inſtructed you to do ſo? ſaid I. Who! my Maſter, to be ſure, ſaid ſhe. Why, ſaid I, how can that be? You have not ſeen him lately. No, that's true, ſaid ſhe; but I have been expecting you here ſome time (O the deep-laid Wickedneſs▪ thought I); and beſides, I have a Letter of Inſtructions by Robin; but, may-be, I ſhould not have ſaid ſo much. If you would ſhew them to me, ſaid I, I ſhould be able to judge how far I could, or could not, expect Favour from you, conſiſtent with your Duty to our Maſter. I beg your Pardon, fair Miſtreſs, for that, ſaid ſhe; I am ſufficiently inſtructed, and you may depend upon it, I will obſerve my Orders; and ſo far as they will let me, ſo far will I oblige you; and there's an End of it.
Well, ſaid I, you will not, I hope, do an unlaw⯑ful or wicked thing, for any Maſter in the World. Look-ye, ſaid ſhe, he is my Maſter; and if he bids me do a thing that I can do, I think I ought to do it; and let him, who has Power to command me, look to the Lawfulneſs of it. Why, ſaid I, ſuppoſe he ſhould bid you cut my Throat, would you do it? There's no Danger of that, ſaid ſhe; but to be ſure I would not; for then I ſhould be hang'd; for that would be Murder. Well, ſaid I, and ſuppoſe he ſhould reſolve to enſnare a poor young Creature, and ruin her, would you aſſiſt him in that? For to rob a Perſon of her Virtue, is worſe than cutting her Throat.
Why now, ſays ſhe, how ſtrangely you talk! Are not the two Sexes made for one another? And is it not natural for a Gentleman to love a pretty Woman? And ſuppoſe he can obtain his Deſires, is that ſo bad as cutting her Throat? And then the Wretch fell a [141] laughing, and talk'd moſt impertinently, and ſhew'd me, that I had nothing to expect from her Virtue or Conſcience. And this gave me great Mortifica⯑tion; for I was in hopes of working upon her by degrees.
So we ended our Diſcourſe here, and I bid her ſhew me where I muſt lie. — Why, ſaid ſhe, lie where you liſt, Madam; I can tell you, I muſt lie with you for the preſent. For the preſent! ſaid I, and Torture then wrung my Heart! — But is it in your Inſtructions that you muſt lie with me? Yes, indeed, ſaid ſhe. I am ſorry for it, ſaid I. Why, ſaid ſhe, I am wholſome and cleanly too, I'll aſſure you. Yes, ſaid I, I don't doubt that; but I love to lie by myſelf. How ſo? ſaid ſhe; was not Mrs. Jervis your Bed-fellow at t'other Houſe?
Well, ſaid I, quite ſick of her, and my Condition, you muſt do as you are inſtructed, I think. I can't help myſelf; and am a moſt miſerable Creature. She repeated her inſufferable Nonſenſe, mighty miſerable indeed, to be ſo well belov'd by one of the fineſt Gentlemen in England!
I am now come down in my Writing to this preſent SATURDAY, and a deal I have written.
MY wicked Bed-fellow has very punctual Orders, it ſeems; for ſhe locks me and herſelf in, and ties the two Keys (for there is a double Door to the Room) about her Wriſt, when ſhe goes to Bed. She talks of the Houſe having been attempted to be broken open two or three times; whether to fright me, I can't tell; but it makes me fearful; tho' not ſo much as I ſhould be, if I had not other and greater Fears.
I ſlept but little laſt Night, and got up, and pre⯑tended to ſit by the Window which looks into the ſpacious Gardens; but I was writing all the [142] time, from Break of Day, to her getting up, and after, when ſhe was abſent.
At Breakfaſt ſhe preſented the two Maids to me, the Cook and Houſe-maid, poor awkward Souls, that I can ſee no Hopes of, they ſeem ſo devoted to her and Ignorance. Yet I am reſolv'd, if poſſible, to find ſome way to eſcape, before this wicked Maſter comes.
There are beſides, of Servants, the Coachman Ro⯑bert, a Groom, a Helper, a Footman; all but Ro⯑bert and he is acceſſary to my Ruin) ſtrange Crea⯑tures, that promiſe nothing; and all likewiſe devoted to this Woman. The Gardener looks like a good honeſt Man; but he is kept at a Diſtance, and ſeems reſerv'd.
I wonder'd I ſaw not Mr. Williams the Clergyman, but would not ask after him, apprehending it might give her ſome Jealouſy; but when I had beheld the reſt, he was the only one I had Hopes of; for I thought his Cloth would ſet him above aſſiſting in my Ruin —But in the Afternoon he came; for it ſeems he has a little Latin School in the neighbouring Village, which he attends; and this brings him in a little Matter, additional to my Maſter's Favour, till ſomething better falls, of which he has Hopes.
He is a ſenſible, ſober young Gentleman; and when I ſaw him, I confirm'd myſelf in my Hopes of him; for he ſeem'd to take great Notice of my Diſtreſs and Grief (for I could not hide it); tho' he appear'd fear⯑ful of Mrs. Jewkes, who watch'd all our Motions and Words.
He has an Apartment in the Houſe; but is moſtly at a Lodging in the Town, for Conveniency of his little School; only on Saturday Afternoons and Sun⯑days: And he preaches ſometimes for the Parſon of the Village, which is about three Miles off.
[143]I hope to go to Church with him to-morrow: Sure it is not in her Inſtructions to deny me! He can't have thought of every thing! And ſomething may ſtrike out for me there.
I have ask'd her, for a Feint, (becauſe ſhe ſhan't think I am ſo well provided) to indulge me with Pen and Ink, tho' I have been uſing my own ſo freely, when her Abſence would let me; for I begg'd to be left to myſelf as much as poſſible. She ſays ſhe will let me have it, but then I muſt promiſe not to ſend any Writing out of the Houſe, without her ſee⯑ing it. I ſaid, It was only to divert my Grief, when I was by myſelf, as I deſired to be; for I lov'd Write⯑ing; but I had nobody to ſend to, ſhe knew well enough.
No, not at preſent, may-be, ſaid ſhe; but I am told you are a great Writer, and it is in my In⯑ſtructions to ſee all you write; ſo, look you here, ſaid ſhe, I will let you have a Pen and Ink, and two Sheets of Paper; for this Employment will keep you out of worſe Thoughts: But I muſt ſee them always when I ask, written or not written. That's very hard, ſaid I; but may I not have to myſelf the Cloſet in the Room where we lie, with the Key to lock up my Things? I believe I may conſent to that, ſaid ſhe; and I will ſet it in Order for you, and leave the Key in the Door. And there is a Spinnet too, ſaid ſhe; if it be in Tune, you may play to divert you now-and-then; for I know my old Lady learnt you.
So I reſolv'd to hide a Pen of my own here, and another there, for fear I ſhould come to be deny'd, and a little of my Ink in a broken China-cup, and a little in another Cup; and a Sheet of Paper here-and-there among my Linen, with a little Wax, and a few Wafers, in ſeveral Places, leſt I ſhould be ſearch'd; and ſomething I thought might happen to open a [144] Way for my Deliverance, by theſe or ſome other Means. O the Pride, thought I, I ſhall have, if I can ſecure my Innocence, and eſcape the artful Wiles of this wicked Maſter! For, if he comes hither, I am undone, to be ſure! For this naughty Woman will aſſiſt him, rather than fail, in the worſt of his Attempts; and he'll have no Occaſion to ſend her out of the Way, as he would have done Mrs. Jervis once. So I muſt ſet all my little Wits at Work.
It is a Grief to me to write, and not to be able to ſend to you what I write; but now it is all the Diver⯑ſion I have, and if God will favour my Eſcape with my Innocence, as I truſt He graciouſly will, for all theſe black Proſpects, with what Pleaſure ſhall I read them afterwards!
I was going to ſay, Pray for your dutiful Daughter, as I uſed; but, alas! you cannot know my Diſtreſs, tho' I am ſure I have your Prayers, And I will write on as Things happen, that if a Way ſhould open, my Scribble may be ready to ſend. For what I do, muſt be at a Jirk, to be ſure.
O how I want ſuch an obliging honeſt-hearted Man as John!
I am now come to SUNDAY.
WELL, here is a ſad Thing! I am deny'd by this barbarous Woman to go to Church, as I had built upon I might. And ſhe has huffed poor Mr. Williams all to-piece;, for pleading for me. I find he is to be forbid the Houſe, if ſhe pleaſes. Poor Gentleman! all his Dependence is upon my Maſter, who has a very good Living for him, if the Incumbent die; and he has kept his Bed theſe four Months, of old Age and Dropſy.
[145]He pays me great Reſpect, and I ſee pities me; and would perhaps aſſiſt my Eſcape from theſe Dan⯑gers: But I have nobody to plead for me; and why ſhould I wiſh to ruin a poor Gentleman, by engaging him againſt his Intereſt? Yet one would do any thing to preſerve one's Innocence; and Providence would, perhaps, make it up to him!
O judge (but how ſhall you ſee what I write!) my diſtracted Condition, to be reduc'd to ſuch a Paſs as to deſire to lay Traps for Mankind! — But he wants ſadly to ſay ſomething to me, as he whiſper⯑ingly hinted.
The Wretch (I think I will always call her the Wretch henceforth) abuſes me more and more. I was but talking to one of the Maids juſt now, indeed a little to tamper with her by degrees; and ſhe popt upon us, and ſaid—Nay, Madam, don't offer to tempt poor innocent Country Maidens from doing their Duty. You wanted, I hear, ſhe ſhould take a Walk with you. But I charge you, Nan, never ſtir with her, nor obey her, without letting me know it, in the ſmalleſt Triſles. — I ſay, walk with you! why, where would you go, I tro'? Why, barbarous Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, only to look a little up the Elm-walk, as you would not let me go to Church.
Nan, ſaid ſhe, to ſhew me how much they were all in her Power, pull off Madam's Shoes, and bring them to me. I have taken care of her others. — in⯑deed ſhe ſhan't, ſaid I. Nay, ſaid Nan, but I muſt, if my Miſtreſs bids me; ſo pray, Madam, don't hinder me: And ſo indeed (would you believe it?) ſhe took my Shoes off, and left me barefoot; And, for my Share, I have been ſo frighten'd at this, that I have not Power even to relieve my Mind by my Tears, I am quite ſtupify'd, to be ſure! — Here I was forc'd to leave off.
[146]Now I will give you a Picture of this Wretch: She is a broad, ſquat, purſy, fat Thing, quite ugly, if any thing human can be ſo called; about forty Years old. She has a huge Hand, and an Arm as thick as my Waiſt, I believe. Her Noſe is flat and crooked, and her Brows grow over her Eyes; a dead, ſpiteful, grey, goggling Eye, to be ſure ſhe has. And her Face is flat and broad; and as to Colour, looks like as if it had been pickled a Month in Salt-petre: I dare ſay ſhe drinks! —She has a hoarſe man-like Voice, and is as thick as ſhe's long; and yet looks ſo deadly ſtrong, that I am afraid ſhe would daſh me at her Foot in an Inſtant, if I was to vex her. — So that with a Heart more ugly than her Face, ſhe frightens me ſadly; and I am undone, to be ſure, if God does not protect me; for ſhe is very, very wicked—indeed ſhe is.
This is but poor helpleſs Spite in me:—But the Picture is too near the Truth notwithſtanding. She ſends me a Meſſage juſt now, that I ſhall have my Shoes again, if I will, accept of her Company, to walk with me in the Garden—To waddle with me, rather, thought I.
Well, 'tis not my Buſineſs to quarrel with her down⯑right. I ſhall be watch'd the narrower, if I do; and ſo I will go with the hated Wretch. — O for my dear Mrs. Jervis! or rather, to be ſafe with my dear Fa⯑ther and Mother!
Oh! I'm out of my Wits for Joy! Juſt as I have got my Shoes on, I am told, John, honeſt John, is come on Horſeback! — A Bleſſing on his faithful Heart! What Joy is this! But I'll tell you more by-and-by. I muſt not let her know, I am ſo glad to ſee this dear bleſſed John, to be ſure!—O but he looks ſad, as I ſee him out of the Window! What can be the Matter!— I hope my dear Parents are well, and Mrs. Jervis, and [147] Mr. Longman, and every body, my naughty Maſter not excepted;—for I wiſh him to live, and repent of all his Wickedneſs to poor me.
O dear Heart! what a World do we live in !— I am now to take up my Pen again: But I am in a ſad Taking truly! Another puzzling Trial, to be ſure!
Here is John, as I ſaid; and the poor Man came to me, with Mrs. Jewkes, who whiſper'd, that I would ſay nothing about the Shoes, for my own ſake, as ſhe ſaid. The poor Man ſaw my Diſtreſs, and my red Eyes, and my haggard Looks, I ſuppoſe; for I have had a ſad Time of it, you muſt needs think; and tho' he would have hid it if he could, yet his Eyes ran over. Oh Mrs. Pamela! ſaid he; Oh Mrs. Pamela!— Well honeſt Fellow-ſervant, ſaid I, I cannot help it at preſent! I am oblig'd to your Honeſty and Kindneſs, to be ſure; and then he wept more. Said I, (for my Heart was ready to break to ſee his Grief; for it is a touching thing to ſee a Man cry) Tell me the worſt! Is my Maſter coming? No, no, ſaid he, and ſobb'd. —Well, ſaid I, is there any News of my poor Father and Mother? How do they do?— I hope, well, ſaid he; I know nothing to the contrary; There is no Miſhap, I hope, to Mrs. Jervis, or Mr. Longman, or my Fellow-ſervants! No— ſaid he, poor Man! with a long N—o, as if his Heart would burſt. Well, thank God then! ſaid I.
The Man's a Fool, ſaid Mrs. Jewkes, I think; what ado is here! why ſure thou'rt in Love, John. Doſt thou not ſee young Madam is well? What ails thee, Man? Nothing at all, ſaid he; but I am ſuch a Fool, as to cry for Joy to ſee good Mrs. Pamela: But I have a Letter for you.
I took it, and ſaw it was from my Maſter; ſo I put it in my Pocket. Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, you need not, [148] I hope, ſee this. No, no, ſaid ſhe, I ſee whom it comes from, well enough; or elſe, may-be, I muſt deſire to ſee it.
And here is one for you, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid he; but yours, ſaid he to me, requires an Anſwer, which I muſt carry back early in the Morning, or to-night, if I can.
You have no more, John, ſaid Mrs. Jewkes, for Mrs. Pamela, have you? No, ſaid he, I have not; but every body's kind Love and Service. Ay, to us both, to be ſure, ſaid ſhe. John, ſaid I, I will read the Letter, and pray take care of yourſelf; for you are a good Man. God bleſs you; and I rejoice to ſee you, and hear from you all. But I long'd to ſay more, only that naſty Mrs. Jewkes—
So I went up, and lock'd myſelf in my Cloſet, and open'd the Letter; and this is a Copy of it:
‘'I Send purpoſely to you on an Affair that con⯑cerns you very much, and me ſomething, but chiefly for your ſake. I am conſcious, that I have proceeded by you in ſuch a manner as may juſtly alarm your Fears, and give Concern to your ho⯑neſt Friends: And all my Pleaſure is, that I can and will make you Amends for all the Diſturbance I have given you. As I promis'd, I ſent to your Father the Day after your Departure, that he might not be too much concern'd for you; and aſſured him of my Honour to you; and made an Excuſe, ſuch an one as ought to have ſatisfy'd him, for your not coming to him. But this was not ſufficient, it ſeems; for he, poor Man! came to me next Morning, and ſet my Family almoſt in an Uproar about you.’
[149] ‘'O my dear Girl, what Trouble has not your Ob⯑ſtinacy given me, and yourſelf too! I had no way to pacify him, but to promiſe, that he ſhould ſee a Letter written from you to Mrs. Jervis, to ſatisfy him you are well.’
‘'Now all my Care in this Caſe is for your aged Parents, leſt they ſhould be fatally touched with Grief; and for you, whoſe Duty and Affection for them I know to be ſo ſtrong and laudable: For this Reaſon I beg you will write a few Lines to them, and let me preſcribe the Form; which I have done, putting myſelf as near as I can in your Place, and expreſſing your Senſe, with a Warmth that I doubt will have too much poſſeſs'd you.’
‘'After what is done, and which cannot now be help'd, but which, I aſſure you, ſhall turn out ho⯑nourably for you, I expect not to be refus'd; be⯑cauſe I cannot poſſibly have any View in it, but to ſatisfy your Parents; which is more your Concern than mine; and ſo I muſt beg you will not alter one Tittle of the underneath. If you do, it will be im⯑poſſible for me to ſend it, or that it ſhould anſwer the good End I propoſe by it.’
‘'I have promis'd to you, that I will not approach you without your Leave: If I find you eaſy, and not attempting to diſpute or avoid your preſent Lot, I will keep to my Word, tho' 'tis a Difficulty upon me. Nor ſhall the preſent Reſtraint upon you laſt long: For I will aſſure you, that I am reſolv'd very ſoon to convince you, how ardently I am.’
[150]The Letter he preſcribed for me was this:
‘'I Have, inſtead of being driven, by Robin, to my dear Father's, been carry'd off to where I have no Liberty to tell. However, at preſent, I am not us'd hardly; and I write to beg you to let my dear Father and Mother, whoſe Hearts muſt be well-nigh broken, know, that I am well; and that I am, and, by the Grace of God, ever will be, their dutiful and honeſt Daughter, as well as’
‘'I muſt neither ſend Date nor Place; but have moſt ſolemn Aſſurances of honourable Uſage.'’
I knew not what to do on this moſt ſtrange Requeſt and Occaſion. But my Heart bled ſo much for you, my dear Father, who had taken the Pains to go yourſelf and inquire after your poor Daughter, as well as for my dear Mother, that I reſolv'd to write, and pretty much in the above * Form, that it might be ſent to pacify you, till I could let you, ſome how or other, know the true State of the Matter. And I wrote this to this ſtrange wicked Maſter himſelf:
‘'IF you knew but the Anguiſh of my Mind, and how much I ſuffer by your dreadfully ſtrange Uſage of me, you would ſurely pity me, and con⯑ſent [151] to my Deliverance. What have I done, that I ſhould be the only Mark of your Cruelty? I can have no Hope, no Deſire of living left me, becauſe I cannot have the leaſt Dependence, after what has paſs'd, upon your ſolemn Aſſurances. — It is impoſ⯑ſible, ſurely, they ſhould be conſiſtent with the ho⯑nourable Deſigns you profeſs.’
‘'Nothing but your Promiſe of not ſeeing me here in my deplorable Bondage, can give me the leaſt Ray of Hope.’
‘'Don't drive the poor diſtreſſed Pamela upon a Rock, I beſeech you, that may be the Deſtruction both of her Body and Soul! You don't know, Sir, how dreadfully I dare, weak as I am of Mind and Intellect, when my Virtue is in Danger. And, oh! haſten my Deliverance, that a poor unworthy Crea⯑ture, below the Notice of ſo great a Man, may not be made the Sport of a high Condition, for no Rea⯑ſon in the World, but becauſe ſhe is not able to de⯑fend herſelf, nor has a Friend that can right her.’
‘'I have, Sir, in part to ſhew my Obedience to you, but indeed, I own, more to give Eaſe to the Minds of my poor diſtreſſed Parents, whoſe Po⯑verty, one would think, ſhould ſcreen them from Violences of this ſort, as well as their poor Daughter, follow'd pretty much the Form you have preſcrib'd for me, to Mrs. Jervis; and the Alterations I have made, (for I could not help a few) are of ſuch a Nature, as, tho' they ſhew my Concern a little, yet muſt anſwer the End you are pleas'd to ſay you pro⯑poſe by this Letter.’
‘'For God's ſake, good Sir, pity my lowly Con⯑dition, and my preſent great Miſery; and let me join with all the reſt of your Servants to bleſs that Goodneſs, which you have extended to every one, but the poor, afflicted, heart-broken’
[152]I thought, when I had written this Letter, and that which he had preſcrib'd, it would look like placing a Confidence in Mrs. Jewkes, to ſhew them to her; and I ſhew'd her at the ſame time my Maſter's Letter to me; for I believ'd, the Value he expreſs'd for me, would give me Credit with one who profeſs'd in every thing to ſerve him right or wrong; tho' I had ſo little Reaſon, I fear, to pride myſelf in it: And I was not miſtaken; for it has ſeem'd to influence her not a little, and ſhe is at preſent mighty obliging, and runs over in my Praiſes; but is the leſs to be minded, be⯑cauſe ſhe praiſes as much the Author of all my Mi⯑ſeries, and his honourable Intentions, as ſhe calls them, when I ſee, that ſhe is capable of thinking;, as I fear he does, that every thing that makes for his wicked Will, is honourable, tho' to the Ruin of the Innocent. Pray God I may find it otherwiſe! I hope, whatever the wicked Gentleman may intend, that I ſhall be at leaſt rid of her impertinent bold way of Talk, when ſhe ſeems to think, by his Letter, that he means ho⯑nourably.
I am now come to MONDAY, the 5th Day of my Bondage and Miſery.
I Was in Hope to have an Opportunity to ſee John, and have a little private Talk with him be⯑fore he went away; but it could not be. The poor Man's exceſſive Sorrow made Mrs. Jewkes take it into her Head, to think he lov'd me; and ſo ſhe brought up a Meſſage to me from him this Morn⯑ing, that he was going. I deſir'd he might come up to my Cloſet, as I call'd it; and ſhe came with him: And the honeſt Man, as I thought him, was as full of Concern as before, at taking Leave. And I gave him my two Letters, the one for Mrs. Jervis, in⯑clos'd in that for my Maſter: But Mrs. Jewkes [153] would ſee me ſeal them up, for fear of any other— I was ſurpris'd, at the Man's going away, to ſee him drop a Bit of Paper, juſt at the Head of the Stairs, which I took up without Mrs. Jewkes's ſeeing me; but I was a thouſand times more ſurpris'd, when I return'd to my Cloſet, and opening it, read as follows:
‘'I AM griev'd to tell you how much you have been deceiv'd and betray'd, and that by ſuch a vile Dog as I. Little did I think it would come to this. But I muſt ſay, if ever there was a Rogue in the World, it is me. I have all along ſhew'd your Letters to my Maſter: He employ'd me for that Purpoſe; and he ſaw every one before I carry'd them to your Father and Mother, and then ſeal'd them up, and ſent me with them. I had ſome Buſi⯑neſs that way; but not half ſo often as I pretended. And as ſoon as I heard how it was with you, I was ready to hang myſelf. You may well think I could not ſtand in your Preſence. O vile, vile Wretch, to bring you to this! If you are ruin'd, I am the Rogue that caus'd it. All the Juſtice I can do you, is, to tell you, you are in vile Hands; and I am afraid will be undone in ſpite of all your ſweet Innocence; and I believe I ſhall never live after I know it. If you can forgive me, you are exceeding good; but I ſhall never forgive myſelf, that's certain. How⯑ſomever, it will do you no good to make this known; and may-hap I may live to do you Service. If I can, I will. I am ſure I ought — Maſter kept your laſt two or three Letters, and did not ſend them at all. I am the moſt abandon'd Wretch of Wretches,’
‘'You ſee your Undoing has been long hatching. Pray take care of your ſweet Self. Mrs. Jewkes is a Devil: But in my Maſter's t'other Houſe you have not one falſe Heart, but my⯑ſelf. Out upon me for a Villain!'’
My dear Father and Mother, when you come to this Place, I make no doubt your Hair will ſtand on End, as mine does!—O the Deceitfulneſs of the Heart of Man!—This John, that I took to be the honeſteſt of Men; that you took for the ſame; that was always praiſing you to me, and me to you, and for nothing ſo much as for our honeſt Hearts; this very Fellow was all the while a vile Hypocrite, and a perfidious Wretch, and helping to carry on my Ruin.
But he ſays enough of himſelf; and I can only ſit down with this ſad Reflection, That Power and Riches never want Tools to promote their vileſt Ends, and that there is nothing ſo hard to be known as the Heart of Man!—Yet I can but pity the poor Wretch, ſince he ſeems to have ſome Remorſe, and I believe it beſt to keep his Wickedneſs ſecret, and, if it lies in my way, to encourage his Penitence; for I may poſſibly make ſome Diſcoveries by it.
One thing I ſhould mention in this Place; he brought down, in a Portmanteau, all the Cloaths and Things my Lady and Maſter had given me, and more⯑over two Velvet Hoods, and a Velvet Scarf, that uſed to be worn by my Lady; but I have no Comfort in them, or any thing elſe.
Mrs. Jewkes had the Portmanteau brought into my Cloſer, and ſhe ſhew'd me what was in it; but then lock'd it up, and ſaid, ſhe would let me have what I would out of it, when I asked; but if I had the Key, it might make me want to go abroad, may-be; and ſo the inſolent Woman put it in her Pocket.
[155]I gave myſelf over to ſad Reflexions upon this ſtrange and ſurprizing Diſcovery of John's, and wept much for him, and for myſelf too; and now I ſee, as he ſays, my Ruin has been ſo long a hatching, that I can make no Doubt what my Maſter's honourable Pro⯑feſſions will end in. What a Heap of Names does the poor Fellow call himſelf! But what muſt they deſerve, who ſet him to work? O what has this wicked Maſter to anſwer for, to be ſo corrupt himſelf, and to corrupt others, who would have been innocent; and all to car⯑ry on further a more corrupt Scene, and to ruin a poor Creature, who never did him Harm, nor wiſh'd him any; and who ſtill can pray for his Happineſs, and his Repentance?
I can but wonder what theſe Gentlemen, as they are called, can think of themſelves for theſe vile Doings? John had ſome Inducement; for he hoped to pleaſe his Maſter, who rewarded him, and was bountiful to him; and the ſame may be ſaid, bad as ſhe is, for this ſame odious Mrs. Jewkes. But what Inducement has my Maſter for taking ſo much Pains to do the Devil's Work?—If he loves me, as 'tis falſly called, muſt he therefore lay Traps for me, to ruin me, and to make me as bad as himſelf? I cannot imagine what Good the Undoing of ſuch a poor Creature as I can procure him! —To be ſure, I am a very worthleſs Body. People indeed ſay I am handſome; but if I was ſo, ſhould not a Gentleman prefer an honeſt Servant to a guilty Har⯑lot?—And muſt he be more earneſt to ſeduce me, be⯑cauſe I dread of all Things to be ſeduced, and would rather loſe ray Life than my Honeſty!
Well, theſe are ſtrange Things to me! I cannot account for them, for my Share; but ſure nobody will ſay, that theſe fine Gentlemen have any Tempter but their own wicked Wills!—This naughty Maſter could run away from me, when he thought none but [156] his Servants ſhould know his baſe Attempts, in that ſad Cloſet Affair; but is it not ſtrange, that he ſhould not be afraid of the All-ſeeing Eye, from which even that black poiſonous Heart of his, and its moſt ſecret Motions, could not be hid? — But what avail me theſe ſorrowful Reflections? He is and will be wicked, and I am, I fear, to be a Victim to his lawleſs At⯑tempts, if the God in whom I truſt, and to whom I hourly pray, prevent it not.
TUESDAY and WEDNESDAY.
I Have been hinder'd, by this wicked Woman's watching me too cloſe, from writing on Tueſday; and ſo I will put both theſe Days together. I have been a little Turn with her, for an Airing, in the Chariot, and walked ſeveral times in the Garden; but have always her at my Heels.
Mr. Williams came to ſee us, and look a Walk with us once; and while her Back was juſt turn'd, (encou⯑rag'd by the Hint he had before given me) I ſaid, Sir, I ſee two Tiles upon that Parſley-bed; cannot one cover them with Mould, with a Note between them, on Occaſion?—A good Hint, ſaid he; let that Sun⯑flower by the Back-door of the Garden be the Place; I have a Key to that; for it is my neareſt way to the Town.
So I was forced to begin. O what Inventions will Neceſſity be the Parent of! I hugg'd myſelf with the Thought; and ſhe coming to us, he ſaid, as if he was continuing the Diſcourſe we were in; No, not extraordinary pleaſant. What's that? what's that? ſaid Mrs. Jewkes.—Only, ſaid he, the Town, I'm ſaying, is not very pleaſant. No, indeed, ſaid ſhe, 'tis not; 'tis a poor Town, to my thinking. Are there any Gentry in it? ſaid I. And ſo we chat⯑ted [157] on about the Town, to deceive her. But my Deceit intended no Hurt to any body.
We then talked of the Garden, how large and pleaſant, and the like; and ſat down on the turfted Slope of the fine Fiſh-pond, to ſee the Fiſhes play upon the Surface of the Water; and ſhe ſaid, I ſhould angle if I would.
I wiſh, ſaid I, you'd be ſo kind to fetch me a Rod and Baits. Pretty Miſtreſs! ſaid ſhe—I know better than that, I'll aſſure you, at this time.—I mean no Harm, ſaid I, indeed. Let me tell you, ſaid ſhe, I know no one that has their Thoughts more about them than you. A body ought to look to it, where you are. But we'll angle a little to-morrow. Mr. Williams, who is much afraid of her, turn'd the Diſ⯑courſe to a general Subject. I ſaunter'd in, and left them to talk by themſelves; but he went away to Town, and ſhe was ſoon after me.
I had got to my Pen and Ink; and I ſaid, I want ſome Paper (putting what I was about in my Bo⯑ſom): You know I have written two Letters, and ſent them by John (O how his Name, poor guilty Fel⯑low, grieves me!). Well, ſaid ſhe, you have ſome left; one Sheet did for thoſe two Letters. Yes, ſaid I; but I uſed half another for a Wrapper, you know; and ſee how I have ſcribbled the other Half; and ſo I ſhewed her a Parcel of broken Scraps of Verſes, which I had try'd to recollect, and which I had written purpoſely that ſhe might ſee, and think me uſually employ'd to ſuch idle Purpoſes. Ay, ſaid ſhe, ſo you have; well, I'll give you two Sheets more; but let me ſee how you diſpoſe of them, either written or blank. Well, thought I, I hope ſtill, Argus, to be too hard for thee. Now Argus, the Poets ſay, had an hundred Eyes, and was made to watch with them all, as ſhe does.
[158]She brought me the Paper, and ſaid, Now, Ma⯑dam, let me ſee you write ſomething. I will, ſaid I; and took the Pen, and wrote, ‘"I wiſh Mrs. Jewkes would be as good to me, as I would be to her, if I had it in my Power!"’ —That's pretty now! ſaid ſhe; well, I hope I am; but what then? ‘"Why then (wrote I) ſhe would do me the Favour to let me know, what I have done to be made her Priſoner; and what ſhe thinks is to become of me."’ Well, and what then? ſaid ſhe. ‘"Why then, of Conſequence, (ſcribbled I) ſhe would let me ſee her Inſtructions, that I may know far to blame her, or acquit her."’
Thus I fooled on, to ſhew her my Fondneſs for ſcribbling; for I had no Expectation of any Good from her; that ſo ſhe might ſuppoſe I employ'd my⯑ſelf, as I ſaid, to no better Purpoſe at other Times: For ſhe will have it, that I am upon the ſome Plot, I am ſo ſilent, and love ſo much to be myſelf. — She would have me write on a little further. No, ſaid I, you have not anſwer'd me. Why, ſaid ſhe, what can you doubt, when my Maſter himſelf aſſures you of his Honour? Ay, ſaid I; but lay your Hand to your Heart, Mrs. Jewkes, and tell me, if you your⯑ſelf believe him. Yes, ſaid ſhe, to be ſure I do. But, ſaid I, what do you call Honour?—Why, ſaid ſhe, what does he call Honour, think you?—Ruin! Shame! Diſgrace! ſaid I, I fear.—Pho, pho! ſaid ſhe; if you have any Doubt about it, he can beſt ex⯑plain his own Meaning:—I'll ſend him Word to come to ſatisfy you, if you will.—Horrid Creature! ſaid I, all in a Fright—Can'ſt thou not ſtab me to the Heart! I'd rather thou wouldſt, than ſay ſuch another Word! —But I hope there is no Thought of his coming.
She had the Wickedneſs to ſay. No, no; he don't intend to come, as I know of: — But if I was he, [159] I would not be long away.—What means the Wo⯑man? ſaid I.—Mean! ſaid ſhe (turning it off); why I mean, I would come, if I was he, and put an End to all your Fears—by making you as happy as you wiſh. 'Tis out of his Power, ſaid I, to make me happy, great and rich as he is! but by leaving me in⯑nocent, and giving me Liberty to go to my dear Fa⯑ther and Mother.
She went away ſoon after, and I ended my Letter, in Hopes to have an Opportunity to lay it in the ap⯑pointed Place. So I went to her, and ſaid; I ſup⯑poſe, as it is not dark, I may take another Turn in the Garden. 'Tis too late, ſaid ſhe; but if you will go, don't ſtay; and, Nan, ſee and attend Madam, as ſhe called me.
So I went towards the Pond, the Wench follow⯑ing me, and dropt purpoſely my Huſſey: And when I came near the Tiles, I ſaid, Mrs. Ann, I have dropt my Huſſey; be ſo kind as to look for it: I had it by the Pond-ſide. The Wench went to look, and I ſlipt the Note between the Tiles, and cover'd them as quick as I could with the light Mould, quite unperceiv'd; and the Maid finding the Huſſey, I took it, and ſaunter'd in again, and met Mrs. Jewkes coming to ſee after me. What I wrote was this:
‘'THE want of Opportunity to ſpeak my Mind to you, I am ſure, will excuſe this Boldneſs in a poor Creature that is betray'd hither, I have Reaſon to think, for the worſt Purpoſes. You know ſomething, to be ſure, of my Story, my native Poverty, which I am not aſhamed of, my late Lady's Goodneſs, and my Maſter's Deſigns upon me. 'Tis true, he promiſes Honour, and all that; but the Honour of the Wicked is Diſgrace and [160] Shame to the Virtuous. And he may think he may keep his Promiſes according to the Notions he may allow himſelf to hold; and yet, according to mine, and every good Body's beſide, baſely ruin me.’
‘'I am ſo wretched, and ill-treated by this Mrs. Jewkes, and ſhe is ſo ill-principled a Woman, that as I may ſoon want the Opportunity which the happy Hint of this Day affords to my Hopes; ſo I throw myſelf at once upon your Goodneſs, with⯑out the leaſt Reſerve; for I cannot be worſe than I am, ſhould that fail me; which, I dare ſay, to your Power, it will not: For I ſee it, Sir, in your Looks, I hope it from your Cloth, and I doubt it not from your Inclination, in a Caſe circumſtanced as my unhappy one is. For, Sir, in helping me out of my preſent Diſtreſs, you perform all the Acts of Religion in one; and the higheſt Mercy and Charity, both to a Body and a Soul of a poor Wretch, that, believe me, Sir, has, at preſent, not ſo much as in Thought, ſwerv'd from her In⯑nocence.'’
‘'Is there not ſome way to be found out for my Eſcape, without Danger to yourſelf? Is there no Gentleman or Lady of Virtue in this Neighbour⯑hood, to whom I may fly, only till I can find a way to get to my poor Father and Mother? Cannot Lady Davers be made acquainted with my ſad Story, by your conveying a Letter to her? My poor Parents are ſo low in the World, they can do nothing but break their Hearts for me; and that, I fear, will be the End of it.’
‘'My Maſter promiſes, if I will be eaſy, as he calls it, in my preſent Lot, he will not come down without my Conſent. Alas! Sir, this is nothing. For what's the Promiſe of a Perſon, who thinks himſelf at Liberty to act as he has done by me? [161] If he comes, it muſt be to ruin me; and come, to be ſure, he will, when he thinks he has ſilenc'd the Clamours of my Friends, and lulled me, as no doubt he hopes, into a fatal Security.’
‘'Now, therefore, Sir, is all the Time I have to work and ſtruggle for the Preſervation of my Ho⯑neſty. If I ſtay till becomes, I am undone. You have a Key to the back Garden-door; I have great Hopes from that. Study, good Sir, and contrive for me. I will faithfully keep your Secret.—Yet I ſhould be loth to have you ſuffer for me!’
‘'I ſay no more, but commit this to the happy Tiles, and to the Boſom of that Earth in which I hope my Deliverance will take Root, and bring forth ſuch Fruit, as may turn to my inexpreſſible Joy, and your eternal Reward, both here and here⯑after. As ſhall ever pray,’
THURSDAY.
THIS completes a fatal Week ſince my ſetting out, as I hoped, to ſee you, my dear Father and Mother. O how different were my Hopes then, from what they are now! Yet who knows what theſe happy Tiles may produce!
But I muſt tell you, firſt, how I have been beaten by Mrs. Jewkes! 'Tis very true!—And thus it came about:
My Impatience was great to walk in the Garden, to ſee if any thing had offer'd, anſwerable to my Hopes. But this wicked Mrs. Jewkes would not let me go without her; and ſhe ſaid ſhe was not at Leiſure. We had a great many Words about it; for I ſaid, it was very hard I could not be truſted to walk by myſelf in the Garden for a little Air; but muſt be dogg'd and watch'd worſe than a Thief.
[162]She ſtill pleaded her Inſtructions, and ſaid ſhe was not to truſt me out of her Sight: And you had better, ſaid ſhe, be eaſy and contented, I aſſure you; for I have worſe Orders than you have yet found. I re⯑member, ſaid ſhe, your asking Mr. Williams if, there were any Gentry in the Neighbourhood: This makes me ſuſpect you want to get away to them, to tell your ſad diſmal Story, as you call it.
My Heart was at my Mouth; for I fear'd by that Hint, ſhe had ſeen my Letter under the Tiles: O how uneaſy I was! At laſt ſhe ſaid, Well, ſince you take ſo on, you may take a Turn, and I will be with you in a Minute.
I went out; and when I was out of Sight of her Window, I ſpeeded towards the hopeful Place, but was ſoon forced to ſlacken my Pace, by her odious Voice; Hey-day, why ſo nimble, and whither ſo faſt? ſaid ſhe: What! are you upon a Wager? I ſtopt for her, till her purſy Sides were waddled up to me; and ſhe held by my Arm, half out of Breath: So I was forced to paſs by the dear Place, without daring to look at it.
The Gardener was at Work a little further, and ſo we looked upon him, and I began to talk about his Art; but ſhe ſaid ſoftly. My Inſtructions are, not to let you be ſo familiar with the Servants. Why, ſaid I, are you afraid I ſhould confederate with them to commit a Robbery upon my Maſter? May-be I am, ſaid the odious Wretch; for to rob him of yourſelf, would be the worſt that could happen to him, in his Opinion.
And pray, ſaid I, walking on, how came I to be his Property? What Right has he in me, but ſuch as a Thief may plead to ſtolen Goods?—Why, was ever the like heard, ſays ſhe!—This is downright Rebellion, I proteſt!—Well, well, Lambkin, (which [163] the Fooliſh often calls me) if I was m his Place, he ſhould not have his Property in you long queſtion⯑able. Why, what would you do, ſaid I, if you were he?—Not. ſtand ſhill-I, ſhall-I, as he does; but put you and himſelf both out of your Pain.—Why, Je⯑zebel, ſaid I, (I could not help it) would you ruin me by Force?—Upon this ſhe gave me a deadly Slap upon my Shoulder: Take that, ſaid ſhe; whom do you call Jezebel?
I was ſo ſurpris'd, (for you never beat me, my dear Father and Mother, in your Lives) that I was as one thunder-ſtruck; and looked round, as if I wanted ſomebody to help me; but, alas! I had no⯑body; and ſaid, at laſt, rubbing my Shoulder, Is this alſo in your Inſtructions?—Alas! for me! am I to be beaten too? And ſo I fell a-crying, and threw myſelf upon the Graſs-walk we were upon.—Said ſhe, in a great Pet, I won't be call'd ſuch Names, I'll aſſure you. Marry come up! I ſee you have a Spirit: You muſt and ſhall be kept under. I'll ma⯑nage ſuch little provoking Things as you, I warrant ye! Come, come, we'll go in Doors, and I'll lock you up, and you ſhall have no Shoes, nor any thing elſe, if this is to be the Caſe.
I did not know what to do. This was a cruel thing to me, and I blam'd myſelf for my free Speech; for now I had given her ſome Pretence; and Oh! thought I, here I have, by my Malpertneſs, ruin'd the only Project I had left.
The Gardener ſaw this Scene; but ſhe called to him, Well, Jacob, what do you ſtare at? Pray mind what you're upon. And away he walk'd, to another Quarter, out of Sight.
Well, thought I, I muſt put on the Diſſembler a little, I ſee. She took my Hand roughly; Come, get up, ſaid ſhe, and come in Doors.—I'll Jezebel you, I warrant ye! — Why, dear Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid [164] I—None of your Dears and your Coaxing? ſaid ſhe; why not Jezebel again?—She was in a fearful Paſſion, I ſaw, and I was out of my Wits. Thought I, I have often heard Women blam'd for their Tongues; I wiſh mine had been ſhorter. But I can't go in, ſaid I, indeed I can't!—Why, ſaid ſhe, can't you? I'll warrant I can take ſuch a thin Body as you are, under my Arm, and carry you in, if you won't walk. You don't know my Strength.—Yes, but I do, ſaid I, too well; and will you not uſe me worſe when I come in?—So I aroſe, and ſhe mutter'd to herſelf all the way, She to be a Jezebel with me, that had uſed me ſo well! and ſuch-like.
When I came near the Houſe, I ſaid, ſitting down upon a Settle-bench, Well, I will not go in, till you ſay, you will forgive me, Mrs. Jewkes.—If you will forgive my calling you that Name, I will forgive your beating me.—She ſat down by me, and ſeem'd in a great Pucker, and ſaid, Well, come, I will forgive you for this time; and ſo kiſſed me, as a Mark of Reconciliation.—But pray, ſaid I, tell me where I am to walk, and go, and give me what Liberty you can; and when I know the moſt you can favour me with, you ſhall ſee I will be as content as I can, and not ask you for more.
Ay, ſaid ſhe, this is ſomething like: I wiſh I could give you all the Liberty you deſire; for you muſt think it is no Pleaſure to me to tie you to my Petticoat, as it were, and not to let you ſtir with⯑out me— But People that will do their Duties, muſt have ſome Trouble; and what I do, is to ſerve as good a Maſter, to be ſure, as lives—Yes, ſaid I, to every body but me!—He loves you too well, to be ſure, reply'd ſhe, and that's the Reaſon; ſo you ought to bear it. I ſay, love, ſaid I! Come, ſaid ſhe, don't let the Wench ſee you have been crying, nor tell her any Tales; for you won't tell them fairly, I [165] am ſure; and I'll ſend her, and you ſhall take ano⯑ther Walk in the Garden, if you will: May-be, ſaid ſhe, it will get you a Stomach to your Dinner; for you don't eat enough to keep Life and Soul to⯑gether. You are Beauty to the Bone, added the ſtrange Wretch, or you could not look ſo well as you do, with ſo little Stomach, ſo little Reſt, and ſo much pining and whining for nothing at all. Well, thought I, ſay what thou wilt, ſo I can be rid of thy bad Tongue and Company: And I hop'd to find ſome Opportunity now, to come at my Sun-flower. But I walked the other way, to take that in my Return, to avoid Suſpicion.
I forced my Diſcourſe to the Wench; but it was all upon general things; for I find ſhe is asked after every thing I ſay and do. When I came near the Place, as I had been deviſing, I ſaid, Pray, ſtep to the Gardener, and ask him to gather a Sallad for me to Dinner. She called out, Jacob!—Said I, he can't hear you ſo far off; and pray tell him, I ſhould like a Cucumber too, if he has one. When ſhe had ſtept about a Bow-ſhot from me, I popt down, and whipt my Fingers under the upper Tile, and pulled out a Letter, without Direction, and thruſt it in my Boſom, trembling for Joy. She was with me before I could well ſecure it; and I was in ſuch a taking, that I feared I ſhould diſcover myſelf. You ſeem frighted, Ma⯑dam, ſaid ſhe: Why, ſaid I, with a lucky Thought, (alas! your poor Daughter will make an Intriguer by-and-by; but I hope an innocent one!) I ſtoop'd to ſmell at the Sun-flower, and a great naſty Worm ran into, the Ground, that ſtartled me; for I don't love Worms. Said ſhe, Sun-flowers don't ſmell. So I find, reply'd I. And ſo we walked in; and Mrs. Jewkes ſaid, Well, you have made haſte in.—You ſhall go another time.
[166]I went up to my Cloſet, lock'd myſelf in, and, opening my Letter, found in it theſe Words:
‘'I Am infinitely concern'd for your Diſtreſs. I moſt heartily wiſh it may be in my Power to ſerve and ſave ſo much Innocence, Beauty and Merit. My whole Dependence is upon Mr. B. and I have a near View of being provided for by his Favour to me. But yet I would ſooner for⯑feit all my Hopes from him, (truſting in God for the reſt) than not aſſiſt you, if poſſible. I never look'd upon Mr. B. in the Light he now appears in to me, in your Caſe. To be ſure, he is no profeſs'd Debauchee. But I am intirely of Opinion, you ſhould, if poſſible, get out of his Hands, and eſpecially as you are in very bad ones in Mrs. Jewkes's.’
‘'We have here the Widow Lady Jones, Miſtreſs of a good Fortune, and a Woman of Virtue, I be⯑lieve. We have alſo old Sir Simon Darnford, and his Lady, who is a good Woman; and they have two Daughters, virtuous young Ladies. All the reſt are but middling People, and Traders, at beſt. I will try, if you pleaſe, either Lady Jones, or Lady Darn⯑ford, if they will permit you to take Refuge with them. I ſee no Probability of keeping myſelf conceal'd in this Matter; but will, as I ſaid, riſque all things to ſerve you; for I never ſaw a Sweetneſs and Innocence like yours; and your hard Caſe has attach'd me in⯑tirely to you; for I know, as you ſo happily expreſs, if I can ſerve you in this Caſe, I ſhall thereby per⯑form all the Acts of Religion in one.’
‘'As to Lady Davers, I will convey a Letter, if you pleaſe, to her; but it muſt not be from our Poſt-houſe, I give you Caution; for the Man owes all his Bread to Mr. B. and his Place too; and I believe, by ſomething that dropt from [167] him, over a Can of Ale, has his Inſtructions. You don't know how you are ſurrounded; all which confirms me in your Opinion, that no Honour is meant you, let what will be profeſſed; and I am glad you want no Caution on that Head.’
‘'Give me Leave to ſay, that I had heard much in your Praiſe, both as to Perſon and Mind; but I think greatly ſhort of what you deſerve: My Eyes convince me of the one, your Letter of the other. For fear of loſing the preſent lucky Opportunity, I am longer than otherwiſe I ſhould be. But I will not inlarge, only to aſſure you, that I am, to the beſt of my Power,’
‘'I will come once every Morning, and once every Evening, after School-time, to look for your Letters. I'll come in, and return without going into the Houſe, if I ſee the Coaſt clear: Otherwiſe, to avoid Suſpicion, I'll come in.'’
I inſtantly, to this pleaſing Letter, wrote as fol⯑lows:
‘'O How anſwerable to your Function, and your Character, is your kind Letter! God bleſs you for it! I now think I am beginning to be happy. I ſhould be ſorry you ſhould ſuffer on my Account; but I hope it will be made up to you an hundred-fold, by that God whom you ſo faith⯑fully ſerve, I ſhould be too happy, could I ever have it in my Power to contribute in the leaſt to it. But, alas! to ſerve me, muſt be for God's [168] ſake only; for I am poor and lowly in Fortune; though in Mind, I hope, too high to do a mean or unworthy Deed, to gain a Kingdom. But I loſe Time.—’
‘'Any way you think beſt, I ſhall be pleaſed with; for I know not the Perſons, nor in what manner it is beſt to apply to them. I am glad of the Hint you ſo kindly give me of the Man at the Poſt-houſe. I was thinking of opening a way for myſelf by Letter, when I could have Opportunity; but I ſee more and more, that I am indeed ſtrangely ſurrounded with Dangers; and that there is no Dependence to be made on my Maſter's Honour.’
‘'I ſhould think, Sir, if either of thoſe Ladies would give Leave, I might ſome way get out by Favour of your Key; and as it is impoſſible, watched as I am, to know when it can be, ſup⯑poſe, Sir, you could get one made by it, and put it, by the next Opportunity, under the Sun-flower? — I am ſure no Time is to be loſt; becauſe it is rather my Wonder, that ſhe is not thoughtful about this Key, than otherwiſe; for ſhe forgets not the minuteſt thing. But, Sir, if I had this Key, I could, if theſe Ladies would not ſhelter me, run away any-where. And if I was once out of the Houſe, they could have no Pretence to force me in again; for I have done no Harm, and hope to make my Story good to any compaſſionate Body; and by this way you need not be known. Torture ſhould not wring it from me, I aſſure you.’
‘'One thing more, good Sir. Have you no Cor⯑reſpondence with my Maſter's Family? By that means, may-be, I could be informed of his In⯑tentions of coming hither, and when. I incloſe you a Letter of a deceitful Wretch; for I can [269] truſt you with anything, poor John Arnold. Its Contents will tell why I incloſe it. Perhaps, by his means, ſomething may be diſcover'd; for he ſeems willing to atone for his Treachery to me, by the Intimation of future Service. I leave the Hint for you to improve upon, and am, Reve⯑rend Sir,’
‘'I hope, Sir, by your Favour, I could ſend a little Packet, now-and-then, ſome-how, to my poor Father and Mother. I have a little Stock of Money, about five or ſix Guineas: Shall I put half in your Hands, to defray a Man and Horſe, or any other Incidents?'’
I had time but juſt to tranſcribe this, before I was called to Dinner; and I put that for Mr. Williams, with a Wafer in it, in my Boſom, to get an Oppor⯑tunity to lay it in the dear Place.
O good Sirs! Of all the Flowers in the Garden, the Sun-flower, ſure, is the lovelieſt!—It is a pro⯑pitious one to me! How nobly my Plot ſucceeds! But I begin to be afraid my Writings may be diſ⯑cover'd; for they grow large: I ſtitch them hitherto in my Under-coat, next my Linen. But if this Brute ſhould ſearch me!—I muſt try to pleaſe her, and then ſhe won't.
Well, I am but juſt come off from a Walk in the Garden; and have depoſited my Letter by a ſimple Wile. I got ſome Horſe-beans; and we took a Turn in the Garden, to angle, as Mrs. Jewkes had promis'd me. She baited the Hook, and I held it, and ſoon hooked a lovely Carp, Play it, [170] play it, ſaid ſhe; I did, and brought it to the Bank. A ſad Thought juſt then came into my Head; and I took it, and threw it in again; and O the Plea⯑ſure it ſeem'd to have, to flounce in, when at Li⯑berty?—Why this? ſays ſhe. O Mrs. Jewkes! ſaid I, I was thinking this poor Carp was the unhappy Pamela. I was likening you and myſelf to my naughty Maſter. As we hooked and deceived the poor Carp, ſo was I betrayed by falſe Baits; and when you ſaid, Play it, play it, it went to my Heart, to think I ſhould ſport with the Deſtruction of the poor Fiſh I had betray'd; and I could not but fling it in again: And did you not ſee the Joy with which the happy Carp flounced from us! O! ſaid I, may ſome good merciful Body procure me my Li⯑berty in the ſame manner; for, to be ſure, I think my Danger equal!
Lord bleſs thee! ſaid ſhe, what a Thought is there! —Well, ſaid I, I can angle no more. I'll try my Fortune, ſaid ſhe, and took the Rod. Well, ſaid I, I will plant Life then, if I can, while you are de⯑ſtroying it. I have ſome Horſe-beans here, and will go and ſtick them into one of the Borders, to ſee how long they will be coming up; and I will call them my Garden.
So you ſee, dear Father and Mother, (I hope now you will ſoon ſee; for, may-be, if I can't get away ſo ſoon myſelf, I may ſend my Papers ſome-how; I ſay, you will ſee) that this furniſhes me with a good Excuſe to look after my Garden another time; and if the Mould ſhould look a little freſhiſh, it won't be ſo much ſuſpected. She miſtruſted nothing of this; and I went and ſtuck in here and there my Beans, for about the Length of five Ells, of each ſide of the Sun-flower; and eaſily repoſited my Letter. And not a little proud am I of this Con⯑trivance. Sure ſomething will do at laſt!
FRIDAY, SATURDAY.
[171]I Have juſt now told you a Trick of mine; now I'll tell you a Trick of this wicked Woman's. She comes up to me; ſays ſhe, I have a Bill I cannot change till To-morrow; and a Tradeſman wants his Money moſt ſadly; and I don't love to turn poor Trades-folks away without their Money: Have you any about you? I have a little. How much will do? ſaid I. Oh! ſaid ſhe, I want eight Pounds. Alack! ſaid I. I have but between five and ſix. Lend me that! ſaid ſhe, till To-morrow. I did ſo; and ſhe went down Stairs: And when ſhe came up, ſhe laugh'd, and ſaid, Well, I have paid the Tradeſman. Said I, I hope you'll give it me again To-morrow. At that, the Aſſurance, laughing loud, ſaid, Why, what Oc⯑caſion have you for Money? To tell you the Truth, Lambkin, I didn't want it. I only fear'd you might make a bad Uſe of it; and now I can truſt Nan with you a little oftener, eſpecially as I have got the Key of your Portmanteau; ſo that you can neither corrupt her with Money or fine Things. Never did any body look more ſilly than I!—O how I fretted to be ſo fooliſhly outwitted!—And the more, as I had hinted to Mr. Williams, that I would put ſome in his Hands to defray the Charges of my ſending to you. I cry'd for Vexation!—And now I have not five Shil⯑lings left to ſupport me, if I can get away!—Was ever ſuch a Fool as I! I muſt be priding myſelf in my Contrivances, indeed! Said I, Was this in your In⯑ſtructions, Wolfkin? for ſhe called me Lambkin. Jezebel, you mean, Child! ſaid ſhe.—Well, I now forgive you heartily; let's buſs; and be Friends!— Out upon you! ſaid I; cannot bear you. But I durſt not call her Names again; for I dread her [172] huge Paw moſt ſadly. The more I think of this thing, the more do I regret it, and blame myſelf.
This Night the Man from the Poſt-houſe brought a Letter for Mrs. Jewkes, in which was one in⯑cloſed to me: She brought it me up. Said ſhe, Well, my good Maſter don't forget us. He has ſent you a Letter; and ſee what he writes to me. So ſhe read, That he hoped her fair Charge was well, happy, and contented: Ay, to be ſure, ſaid I, I can't chuſe!—That he did not doubt her Care and Kindneſs to me; that I was very dear to him, and ſhe could not uſe me too well; and the like. There's a Maſter for you, ſaid ſhe! Sure you will love and pray for him. I deſir'd her to read the reſt. No, no, ſaid ſhe, but I wont. Said I, Are there any Orders for taking my Shoes away, and for beating me? No, ſaid ſhe, nor about Jezebel neither. Well, return'd I, I cry Truce! for I have no mind to be beat again. I thought, ſaid ſhe, we had forgiven one another.
My Letter is as follows:
‘'I Begin to repent already, that I have bound my⯑ſelf, by Promiſe, not to ſee you till you give me Leave; for I think the Time very tedious. Can you place ſo much Confidence in me, as to invite me down? Aſſure yourſelf that your Gene⯑roſity ſhall not be thrown away upon me. I the rather would preſs this, as I am uneaſy for your Uneaſineſs; for Mrs. Jewkes acquaints me, that you take your Reſtraint very heavily; and neither eat, drink, nor reſt well; and I have too great an Intereſt in your Health, not to wiſh to ſhorten [173] the Time of this Trial to you: which will be the Conſequence of my coming down to you. John, too, has intimated to me your Concern, with a Grief that hardly gave him leave for Ut⯑terance, a Grief that a little alarm'd my Tender⯑neſs for you. Not that I fear any thing, but that your Diſregard to me, which yet my proud Heart will hardly permit me to own, may throw you up⯑on ſome Raſhneſs, that might encourage a daring Hope: But how poorly do I deſcend, to be anxious about ſuch a Menial as he! — I will only ſay one thing, that if you will give me Leave to attend you at the Hall, (conſider who it is that requeſts this from you as a Favour) I ſolemnly declare, that you ſhall have Cauſe to be pleaſed with this obliging Mark of your Confidence in me, and Conſideration for me; and if I find Mrs. Jewkes has not behaved to you with the Reſpect due to one I ſo dearly love, I will put it intirely into your Power to diſcharge her the Houſe, if you think proper; and Mrs. Jervis, or who elſe you pleaſe, ſhall attend you in her place. This I ſay on a Hint John gave me, as if you reſented ſomething from that Quarter. Deareſt Pamela, anſwer favourably this earneſt Requeſt of one that cannot live without you, and on whoſe Honour to you, you may abſolutely depend; and ſo much the more, as you place a Confidence in it, I am, and aſſuredly ever will be,’
‘'You will be glad, I know, to hear your Father and Mother are well, and eaſy upon your laſt Letter. That gave me a Pleaſure that I am reſolved you ſhall not repent. Mrs. Jewkes will convey to me your Anſwer.'’
[174]I but ſlightly read this Letter for the preſent, to give way to one I had hopes of finding by this time from Mr. Williams. I took an Evening Turn, as I call'd it, in Mrs. Jewkes's Company; and walk⯑ing by the Place, I ſaid, Do you think, Mrs. Jewkes, any of my Beans can have ſtruck ſince Yeſterday? She laugh'd, and ſaid. You are a poor Gardener; but I love to ſee you divert yourſelf. She paſſing on, I found my good Friend had pro⯑vided for me, and ſlipping it in my Boſom, for her Back was towards me. Here, ſaid I, having a Bean in my Hand, is one of them; but it was not ſtirr'd No, to be ſure, ſaid ſhe, and turn'd upon me a moſt wicked Jeſt, unbecoming the Mouth of a Woman, about Planting, &c. When I came in, I hy'd to my Cloſet, and read as follows:
‘'I AM ſorry to tell you, that I have had a Repulſe from Lady Jones. She is concerned at your Caſe, ſhe ſays; but don't care to make herſelf Enemies. I apply'd to Lady Darnford, and told her, in the moſt pathetick manner I could, your ſad Story, and ſhew'd her your more pathetick Letter. I found her well diſpos'd; but ſhe would adviſe with Sir Simon, who, by-the-by, is not a Man of extraordinary Character for Virtue; but he ſaid to his Lady, in my Preſence, Why, what is all this, my Dear, but that our Neighbour has a mind to his Mother's Waiting-maid! And if he takes care ſhe wants for nothing, I don't ſee any great Injury will be done her. He hurts no Family by this'’ (So, my dear Father and Mo⯑ther, it ſeems that poor Peoples Honeſty is to go for nothing). ‘'And I think, Mr. Williams, you, of all Men, ſhould not engage in this Affair, againſt your Friend and Patron. He ſpoke this in ſo determin'd a manner, that the Lady had done: and I had only [175] to beg no Notice ſhould be taken of the Matter as from me.’
‘'I have hinted your Caſe to Mr. Peters, the Mi⯑niſter of this Pariſh; but I am concern'd to ſay, that he imputed ſelfiſh Views to me, as if I would make an Intereſt in your Affections, by my Zeal. And when I repreſented the Duties of our Fun⯑ction, and the like, and proteſted my Diſintereſt⯑edneſs, he coldly ſaid, I was very good; but was a young Man, and knew little of the World. And tho' 'twas a Thing to be lamented, yet when he and I ſet about to reform Mankind in this reſpect, we ſhould have enough upon our Hands; for, he ſaid, it was too common and faſhionable a Caſe to be withſtood by a private Clergyman or two: And then he utter'd ſome Reflections upon the Conduct of the preſent Fathers of the Church, in regard to the firſt Perſonages of the Realm, as a Juſtifi⯑cation of his Coldneſs on this ſcore.’
‘'I repreſented the different Circumſtances of your Affair; that other Women liv'd evilly by their own Conſent; but to ſerve you, was to ſave an Innocence that had but few Examples; and then I ſhew'd him your Letter.’
‘'He ſaid, It was prettily written; and he was ſorry for you; and that your good Intentions ought to be encourag'd; but what, ſaid he, would you have me do, Mr. Williams? Why, ſuppoſe Sir, ſaid I, you give her Shelter in your Houſe, with your Spouſe and Niece, till ſhe can get to her Friends!—What, and imbroil myſelf with a Man of Mr. B's Power and Fortune! No, not I, I'll aſſure you!—And I would have you conſider what you are about. Beſides, ſhe owns, continued he, that he promiſes to do honourably by her; and her Shyneſs will procure her good Terms enough; for he is no covetous nor wicked Gentleman, [176] except in this Caſe; and 'tis what all young Gentlemen will do.’
‘'I am greatly concern'd for him, I aſſure you; but am not diſcourag'd by this ill Succeſs, let what will come of it, if I can ſerve you.’
‘'I don't hear, as yet, that Mr. B. is coming; I am glad of your Hint as to that unhappy Fellow John Arnold; ſomething, perhaps, will ſtrike out from that, which may be uſeful. As to your Pacquets, if you ſeal them up, and lay them in the uſual Place, if you find it not ſuſpected, I will watch an Opportunity to convey them; but if they are large, you had beſt be very cautious. This evil Woman, I find, miſtruſts me much.’
‘'I juſt hear that the Gentleman is dying, whoſe Living Mr. B. has promis'd me. I have almoſt a Scruple of taking it, as I am acting ſo contrary to his Deſires; but I hope he'll one Day thank me for it. As to Money, don't think of it at preſent. Be aſſured you may command all in my Power to do for you, without Reſerve.’
‘'I believe, when we hear he is coming, it will be beſt to make uſe of the Key, which I ſhall ſoon procure you; and I can borrow a Horſe for you, I believe, to wait within half a Mile of the Back⯑door, over the Paſture; and will contrive by my⯑ſelf, or ſomebody, to have you conducted ſome Miles diſtant, to one of the Villages thereabouts; ſo don't be diſcomforted, I beſeech you. I am, excellent Mrs. Pamela,’
I made a thouſand ſad Reflections upon the for⯑mer Part of this honeſt Gentleman's kind Letter; and but for the Hope he gave me at laſt, ſhould have given up my Caſe as quite deſperate. I then wrote [177] to thank him moſt gratefully for his kind Endeavours; to lament the little Concern the Gentry had for my deplorable Caſe; the Wickedneſs of the World, firſt to give way to ſuch iniquitous Faſhions, and then plead the Frequency of them, againſt the Attempt to amend them; and how unaffected People were to the Diſtreſſes of others. I recall'd my former Hint as to writing to Lady Davers, which I fear'd, I ſaid, would only ſerve to apprize her Brother, that ſhe knew his wicked Scheme, and more harden him in it, and make him come down the ſooner, and to be the more determin'd on my Ruin; beſides, that it might make Mr. Williams gueſs'd at, as a means of conveying my Letter: And being very fearful, that if that good Lady would intereſt herſelf in my Be⯑half, (which was a Doubt, becauſe ſhe both lov'd and fear'd her Brother) it would have no Effect upon him; and that, therefore, I would wait the happy Event I might hope for from his kind Aſſiſtance in the Key and the Horſe. I intimated my Maſter's Letter, begging to be permitted to come down: Was fearful it might be ſudden; and that I was of Opi⯑nion no Time was to be loſt; for we might loſe all our Opportunities; telling him the Money-trick of this vile Woman, &c.
I had not Time to take a Copy of this Letter, I was ſo watch'd. But when I had it ready in my Bo⯑ſom, I was eaſy. And ſo I went to ſeek out Mrs. Jewkes, and told her I would have her Advice upon the Letter I had receiv'd from my Maſter, which Point of Confidence in her, pleaſed her not a little. Ay, ſaid ſhe, now this is ſomething like: And, we'll take a Turn in the Garden, or where you pleaſe. I pretended it was indifferent to me; and ſo we walk'd into the Garden. I began to talk to her of the Letter; but was far from acquainting her with all the Contents; only that he wanted my Conſent to come [178] down, and hop'd ſhe us'd me kindly, and the like. And I ſaid, Now, Mrs. Jewkes, let me have your Advice as to this. Why then, ſaid ſhe, I will give it you freely. E'en ſend to him to come down. It will highly oblige him, and I dare ſay you'll fare the better for it. How the better? ſaid I —I dare ſay, you think yourſelf, that he intends my Ruin. I hate, ſaid ſhe, that fooliſh Word; your Ruin!— Why ne'er a Lady in the Lady may live happier than you, if you will, or be more honourably uſed.
Well, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, I ſhall not at this time diſpute with you about the Words Ruin or honour⯑able; for I find, we have quite different Notions of both: But now I will ſpeak plainer than ever I did. Do you think he intends to make Propoſals to me, as to a kept Miſtreſs, or kept Slave rather, or do you not?—Why, Lambkin, ſaid ſhe, what doſt thou think thyſelf?—I fear, ſaid I, he does. Well, ſaid ſhe, but if he does, (for I know nothing of the Matter, I aſſure you) you may have your own Terms— I ſee that; for you may do any thing with him.
I could not bear this to be ſpoken, tho' it was all I fear'd of a longtime; and began to exclaim moſt ſadly. Nay, ſaid ſhe, he may marry you, as far as I know.—No, no, ſaid I, that cannot be—I neither deſire nor expect it. His Condition don't permit me to have ſuch a Thought, and that, and the whole Series of his Conduct, convinces me of the con⯑trary; and you would have me invite him to come down, would you? Is not this to invite my Ruin?
'Tis what I would do, ſaid ſhe, in your Place; and if it was to be as you think, I ſhould rather be out of my Pain, than live in continual Frights and Apprehenſion as you do. No, reply'd I, an Hour of Innocence is worth an Age of Guilt; and were my [179] Life to be made ever ſo miſerable by it, I ſhould never forgive myſelf, if I were not to lengthen out to the longeſt Minute my happy Time of Honeſty. Who knows what Providence may do for me!
Why, may-be, ſaid ſhe, as he loves you ſo well, you may prevail upon him by your Prayers and Tears; and for that Reaſon, I ſhould think, you'd better let him come down. Well, ſaid I, I will write him a Letter, becauſe he expects an Anſwer, or may-be he will make that a Pretence to come down. How can it go?
I'll take care of that, ſaid ſhe; it is in my In⯑ſtructions—Ay, thought I, ſo I doubt, by the Hint Mr. Williams gave me, about the Poſt-houſe.
The Gardener coming by, I ſaid, Mr. Jacob, I have planted a few Beans, and I call the Place my Garden. It is juſt by the Door out-yonder, I'll ſhew it you; pray don't dig them up. So I went on with him; and when we had turn'd the Alley, out of her Sight, and were near the Place, ſaid I, Pray ſtep to Mrs. Jewkes, and aſk her if ſhe has any more Beans for me to plant? He ſmil'd, I ſuppoſe at my Fooliſh⯑neſs, and I popt the Letter under the Mould, and ſtept back, as if waiting for his Return; which being near, was immediate, and ſhe follow'd him. What ſhould I do with Beans? ſaid ſhe— and ſadly ſcar'd me; for ſhe whiſper'd me, I am afraid of ſome Fetch! you don't uſe to ſend of ſuch ſimple Errands.— What Fetch? ſaid I; it is hard I can neither ſtir, nor ſpeak, but I muſt be ſuſpected.—Why, ſaid ſhe, my Maſter writes, that I muſt have all my Eyes about me; for, tho' you are as innocent as a Dove, yet you're as cunning as a Serpent. But I'll forgive you, if you cheat me.
Then I thought of my Money, and could have call'd her Names, had I dar'd▪ And I ſaid, Pray,
[180]Mrs. Jewkes, now you talk of forgiving me, if I cheat you, be ſo kind as to pay me my Money; for tho' I have no Occaſion for it, yet I know you was but in Jeſt, and intended to give it me again. You ſhall have it in a proper time, ſaid ſhe; but, indeed, I was in earneſt to get it out of your Hands, for fear you ſhould make an ill Uſe of it. And ſo we cavilled upon this Subject as we walk'd in, and I went up to write my Letter to my Maſter; and, as I intended to ſhew it her, I reſolv'd to write accordingly as to her Part of it; for I made little Account of his offer of Mrs. Jervis to me, inſtead of this wicked Woman, (tho' the moſt agree⯑able thing that could have befallen me, except my Eſcape from hence) nor indeed of any thing he ſaid; For to be honourable, in the juſt Senſe of the Word, he need not have caus'd me to be run away with, and confin'd as I am. I wrote as follows:
‘'WHEN I conſider how eaſy it is for you to make me happy, ſince all I deſire is to be permitted to go to my poor Father and Mo⯑ther: When I reflect upon your former Pro⯑poſal to me, in relation to a certain Perſon, not one Word of which is now mentioned; and upon my being in that ſtrange manner run away with, and ſtill kept here a miſerable Priſoner; do you think, Sir, (pardon your poor Servant's Free⯑dom; my Fears make me bold; do you think, I ſay) that your general Aſſurances of Honour to me, can have the Effect upon me, that, were it not for theſe Things, all your Words ought to have? —O good Sir! I too much apprehend, that your Notions of Honour and mine are very different from one another. And I have no other Hope [181] but in your continued Abſence. If you have any Propoſals to make me, that are conſiſtent with your honourable Profeſſions, in my humble Senſe of the Word, a few Lines will communicate them to me, and I will return ſuch an Anſwer as befits me, But Oh! What Propoſals can one in your high Station have to make to one in my low one! I know what belongs to your Degree too well, to imagine, that any thing can be expected but ſad Temptations, and utter Diſtreſs, if you come down; and you know not, Sir, when I am made de⯑ſperate, what the wretched Pamela dares to do!’
‘'Whatever Raſhneſs you may impute to me, I cannot help it, but I wiſh I may not be forced upon any, that otherwiſe would never enter into my Thoughts. Forgive me, Sir, my Plainneſs; I ſhould be loth to behave to my Maſter unbe⯑comingly; but I muſt needs ſay, Sir, my Innocence is ſo dear to me, that all other Conſiderations are, and, I hope, ſhall ever be, treated by me as Niceties, that ought, for that, to be diſpenſed with. If you mean honourably, why, Sir, ſhould you not let me know it plainly? Why is it neceſſary to impriſon me, to convince me of it? And why muſt I be cloſe watch'd, and attended, hinder'd from ſtirring out, from ſpeaking to any body, from going ſo much as to Church to pray for you, who have been till of late ſo generous a Benefactor to me? Why, Sir, I humbly aſk, why all this, if you mean honourably?—It is not for me to expoſtu⯑late ſo freely, but in a Caſe ſo near to me, with you. Sir, ſo greatly my Superior. Pardon me, I hope, you will; but as to any the leaſt De⯑ſire of ſeeing you, I cannot bear the dreadful Ap⯑prehenſion. Whatever you have to propoſe, what⯑ever you intend by me, let my Aſſent be that of a free Perſon, mean as I am, and not of a [182] ſordid Slave, who is to be threatened and frightened into a Compliance, that your Conduct to her ſeems to imply would be otherwiſe abhorr'd by her.— My Reſtraint is indeed hard upon me. I am very uneaſy under it. Shorten it, I beſeech you, or—But I will not dare to ſay more, than that I am’
After I had taken a Copy of this, I folded it up; and Mrs. Jewkes coming up, juſt as I had done, ſat down by me, and ſaid, when ſhe ſaw me direct it, I wiſh you would tell me if you have taken my Ad⯑vice, and conſented to my Maſter's coming down. If it will oblige you, ſaid I, I will read it to you. That's good, ſaid ſhe; then I'll love you dearly.— Said I, then you muſt not offer to alter one Word. I won't, reply'd ſhe. So I read it to her, and ſhe prais'd me much for my Wording it; but ſaid, ſhe thought I puſh'd the Matter very cloſe; and it would better hear talking of, than writing about. She wanted an Explanation or two, as about the Propoſal to a cer⯑tain Perſon; but I ſaid, ſhe muſt take it as ſhe heard it. Well, well, ſaid ſhe, I make no doubt you un⯑derſtand one another, and will do ſo more and more. I ſeal'd up the Letter, and ſhe undertook to convey it.
SUNDAY.
FOR my part, I knew it in vain to expect to have Leave to go to Church now, and ſo I did not aſk; and I was the more indifferent, becauſe, if I might have had Permiſſion, the Sight of the neighbouring Gentry, who had deſpis'd my Sufferings, would have given me great Regret and Sorrow; and it was im⯑poſſible [183] I ſhould have edify'd under any Doctrine preach'd by Mr. Peters: So I apply'd myſelf to my private Devotions.
Mr. Williams came Yeſterday, and this Day, as uſual, and took my Letter; but having no good Op⯑portunity, we avoided one anothers Converſation, and kept at a Diſtance: But I was concern'd I had not the Key; for I would not have loſt a Moment in that Caſe, had I been he, and he me. When I was at my Devotions, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and wanted me ſadly to ſing her a Pſalm, as ſhe had often on common Days importun'd me for a Song upon the Spinnet: but I declin'd it, becauſe my Spirits were ſo low I could hardly ſpeak, nor car'd to be ſpoken to; but when ſhe was gone, I, remem⯑bering the 137th Pſalm to be a little touching, turn'd to it, and took the Liberty to alter it to my Caſe more. I hope I did not ſin in it; but thus I turn'd it:
MONDAY, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY.
I Write now with a little more Liking, tho' leſs Opportunity, becauſe Mr. Williams has got a large Parcel of my Papers ſafe, in his Hands, to ſend them to you, as he has Opportunity; ſo I am not quite uſeleſly employ'd; and I am deliver'd, beſides, from the Fear of their being found, if I ſhould be ſearch'd, or diſcover'd. I have been permitted to take an Airing five or ſix Miles, with Mrs. Jewkes: But, tho' I know not the Reaſon, ſhe watches me more cloſely than ever; ſo that we have diſcontinued, by Conſent, for theſe three Days, the Sun-flower Correſpondence.
The poor Cook-maid has had a bad Miſchance; for ſhe has been hurt much by a Bull in the Paſture, by the Side of the Garden, not far from the Back⯑door. Now this Paſture I am to croſs, which is about half a Mile, and then is a Common, and near that a private Horſe-road, where I hope to find an Op⯑portunity for eſcaping, as ſoon as Mr. Williams can get me a Horſe, and has made all ready for me: For he has got me the Key, which he put under the Mould, juſt by the Door, as he found an Opportu⯑nity to hint to me.
He juſt now has ſignify'd, that the Gentleman is dead, whoſe Living he has had Hope of, and he came pretendedly to tell Mrs. Jewkes of it; and ſo could ſpeak this to her, before me. She wiſh'd him [186] Joy. See what the World is! one Man's Death is another Man's Joy: Thus we thruſt out one another! — My hard Caſe makes me ſerious. He found means to ſlide a Letter into my Hands, and is gone away: He look'd at me with ſuch Reſpect and Solemnneſs at Parting, that Mrs. Jewkes ſaid, Why, Madam, I believe our young Parſon is half in Love with you.—Ah! Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, he knows better. Said ſhe, (I believe to ſound me) Why I can't ſee you can either of you do better; and I have lately been ſo touch'd for you, ſeeing how heavily you apprehend Diſhonour from my Maſter, that I think it is Pity you ſhould not have Mr. Williams.
I knew this muſt be a Fetch of hers, becauſe in⯑ſtead of being troubled for me, as ſhe pretended, ſhe watched me cloſer, and him too: and ſo I ſaid, There is not the Man living that I deſire to marry. If I can but keep myſelf honeſt, it is all my Deſire: And to be a Comfort and Aſſiſtance to my poor Pa⯑rents, if it ſhould be my happy Lot to be ſo, is the very Top of my Ambition. Well, but, ſaid ſhe, I have been thinking very ſeriouſly, that Mr. Williams would make you a good Huſhand; and as he will owe all his Fortune to my Maſter, he will be very glad, to be ſure, to be oblig'd to him for a Wife of his chuſing: Eſpecially, ſaid ſhe, ſuch a pretty one, and one ſo ingenious and genteelly educated.
This gave me a Doubt, whether ſhe knew of my Maſter's Intimation of that ſort formerly; and I aſked her, if ſhe had Reaſon to furmiſe, that that was in View? No, ſhe ſaid; it was only her own Thought; but it was very likely that my Maſter had either that in View, or ſomething better for me. But, if I approv'd of it, ſhe would propoſe ſuch a thing to her Maſter directly; and gave a deteſtable Hint, that I might take Reſolutions upon it, of [187] bringing ſuch an Affair to Effect. I told her, I ab⯑horr'd her vile Inſinuation; and as to Mr. Williams, I thought him a civil good ſort of Man; but as on one ſide, he was above me; ſo on the other, of all Things, I did not love a Parſon. So finding ſhe could make nothing of me, ſhe quitted the Subject.
I will open his Letter by-and-by, and give you the Contents of it; for ſhe is up and down ſo much, that I am afraid of her ſurpriſing me.
Well, I ſee Providence has not abandon'd me: I ſhall be under no Neceſſity to make Advances to Mr. Williams, if I was (as I am ſure I am not) diſpos'd to it. This is his Letter:
‘'I Know not how to expreſs myſelf, leſt I ſhould appear to you to have a ſelfiſh View in the Service I would do you. But I really know but one effectual and honourable Way to diſengage yourſelf from the dangerous Situation you are in. It is that of Marriage with ſome Perſon that you could make happy in your Approbation. As for my own part, it would be, as Things ſtand, my apparent Ruin; and, worſe ſtill, I ſhould involve you in Miſery too. But yet, ſo great is my Vene⯑ration for you, and ſo intire my Reliance in Pro⯑vidence, on ſo juſt an Occaſion, that I ſhould think myſelf but too happy, if I might be accepted, I would, in this Caſe, forego all my Expectations, and be your Conductor to ſome ſafe Diſtance. But why do I ſay, in this Caſe? That I will do, whether you think fit to reward me ſo eminently or not. And I will, the Moment I hear of Mr. B's ſetting out, (and I think now I have ſettled a very good Method of Intelligence of all his Motions) get a Horſe ready, and myſelf to [188] conduct you. I refer myſelf wholly to your Goodneſs and Direction, and am, with the higheſt Reſpect,’
‘'Don't think this a ſudden Reſolution. I always admir'd your hear-ſay Character; and the Moment I ſaw you, wiſh'd to ſerve ſo much Excellence.’
What ſhall I ſay, my dear Father and Mother, to this unexpected Declaration? I want now, more than ever, your Bleſſing and Direction. But after all, I have no Mind to marry: I had rather live with you. But yet, I would marry a Man who begs from Door to Door, and has no Home nor Being, rather than endanger my Honeſty. Yet, I cannot, me⯑thinks, hear of being a Wife.—After a thouſand different Thoughts, I wrote as follows:
‘'I AM much confuſed at the Contents of your laſt. You are much too generous, and I can't bear you ſhould riſque all your future Proſpects for ſo unworthy a Creature. I cannot think of your Offer without equal Concern and Gratitude; for nothing but to avoid my utter Ruin can make me think of a Change of Condition; and ſo, Sir, you ought not to accept of ſuch an involuntary Compliance, as mine would be, were I, upon the laſt Neceſſity, to yield to your very generous Pro⯑poſal. I will rely wholly upon your Goodneſs to me, in aſſiſting my Eſcape; but ſhall not, on your Account principally, think of the Honour you propoſe for me, at preſent; and never, but at the Pleaſure of my Parents, who, poor as they [189] are, in ſuch a weighty Point, are as much intitled to my Obedience and Duty, as if they were ever ſo rich. I beg you therefore, Sir, not to think of any thing from me, but everlaſting Gratitude, which will always bind me to be’
THURSDAY, FRIDAY, SATURDAY, the 14th, 15th and 16th of my Bondage.
MRS. Jewkes has received a Letter, and is much civiler to me, and Mr. Williams too, than ſhe uſed to be. I wonder I have not one in Anſwer to mine to my Maſter. I ſuppoſe I put the Matter too home to him; and he is angry. I am not the more pleas'd for her Civility; for ſhe is horrid cunning, and is not a whit leſs watchful. I laid a Trap to get at her Inſtructions, which ſhe carries in the Boſom of her Stays, but it has not ſucceeded.
My laſt Letter is come ſafe to Mr. Williams, by the old Conveyance, ſo that he is not ſuſpected. He has intimated, that tho' I have not come ſo readily as he hop'd into his Scheme, yet his Diligence ſhall not be ſlacken'd, and he will leave it to Providence and myſelf, to diſpoſe of him as he ſhall be found to deſerve. He has ſignify'd to me, that he ſhall ſoon ſend a ſpecial Meſſenger with the Packet to you, and I have added to it what has occurr'd ſince.
SUNDAY.
I Am juſt now quite aſtoniſh'd!—I hope all is right! —But I have a ſtrange Turn to acquaint you with. Mr. Williams and Mrs. Jewkes came to me [190] both together; he in Ecſtacies, ſhe with a ſtrange fluttering ſort of Air. Well, ſaid ſhe, Mrs. Pamela, I give you Joy! I give you Joy!—Let nobody ſpeak but me! Then ſhe ſat down, as out of Breath, puff⯑ing and blowing. Why, every thing turns as I ſaid it would! ſaid ſhe: Why, there is to be a Match between you and Mr. Williams! Well, I always thought it. Never was ſo good a Maſter!—Go to, go to, naughty miſtruſtful Mrs. Pamela, nay, Mrs. Williams, ſaid the forward Creature, I may as good as call you, you ought on your Knees to beg his Pardon a thouſand times for miſtruſting him.
She was going on; but I ſaid, Don't torture me thus, I beſeech you, Mrs. Jewkes. Let me know all!—Ah! Mr. Williams, ſaid I, take care, take care! —Miſtruſtful again! ſaid ſhe; why, Mr. Williams, ſhew her your Letter; and I will ſhew her mine: They were brought by the ſame Hand.
I trembled at the Thoughts of what this might mean; and ſaid. You have ſo ſurpris'd me, that I cannot ſtand, nor hear, nor read! Why did you come up in ſuch a manner to attack ſuch weak Spi⯑rits? Said he, to Mrs. Jewkes, Shall we leave our Letters with Mrs. Pamela, and let her recover from her Surprize? Ay, ſaid ſhe, with all my Heart; here is nothing but flaming Honour and Good-will! And ſo ſaying, they left me their Letters, and withdrew.
My Heart was quite ſick with the Surprize; ſo that I could not preſently read them, notwith⯑ſtanding my Impatience; but after a-while, re⯑covering, I found the Contents thus ſtrange and unexpected:
‘'THE Death of Mr. Fownes has now given me the Opportunty I have long wanted, to make you happy, and that in a double reſpect: For I ſhall ſoon put you in Poſſeſſion of his Living, and, if you have the Art of making yourſelf well receiv'd, of one of the lovelieſt Wives in England. She has not been uſed (as ſhe has reaſon to think) accord⯑ing to her Merit; but when ſhe finds herſelf under the Protection of a Man of Virtue and Probity, and a happy Competency to ſupport Life in the manner to which ſhe has been of late Years ac⯑cuſtom'd, I am perſuaded ſhe will forgive thoſe ſeeming Hardſhips which have pav'd the Way to ſo happy a Lot, as I hope it will be to you both. I have only to account for and excuſe the odd Conduct I have been guilty of, which I ſhall do, when I ſee you: But as I ſhall ſoon ſet out for London, I believe it will not be yet this Month. Mean time, if you can prevail with Pamela, you need not ſuſpend for that your mutual Happineſs; only, let me have Notice of it firſt, and that ſhe approves of it; which ought to be, in ſo material a Point, intirely at her Option; as I aſſure you, on the other hand, I would have it at yours, that nothing may be wanting to complete your Happineſs. I am’
Was ever the like heard!—Lie ſtill, my throb⯑bing Heart, divided, as thou art, between thy Hopes and thy Fears!—But this is the Letter Mrs. Jewkes left with me:
‘'YOU have been very careful and diligent in the Taſk, which, for Reaſons I ſhall here⯑after explain, I had impos'd upon you. Your Trouble is now almoſt at an End; for I have written my Intentions to Mr. Williams ſo particularly, that I need ſay the leſs here, becauſe he will not ſcruple, I believe, to let you know the Contents of my Letter. I have only one thing to mention, that if you find what I have hinted to him in the leaſt meaſure diſagreeeble to Either, you aſſure them Both, that they are at intire Liberty to purſue their own Inclinations. I hope you continue your Civilities to the miſtruſtful, uneaſy Pamela, who now will begin to think better of hers and’
I had hardly time to tranſcribe theſe Letters, tho', writing ſo much, I write pretty faſt, before they both came up again, in high Spirits; and Mr. Wil⯑liams ſaid, I am glad at my Heart, Madam, that I was before-hand in my Declarations to you: This generous Letter has made me the happieſt Man on Earth; and, Mrs. Jewkes, you may be ſure, that if I can procure this Fair-one's Conſent, I ſhall think myſelf—I interrupted the good Man, and ſaid, Ah! Mr. Williams, take care, take care; don't let— There I ſtopt, and Mrs. Jewkes ſaid, Still miſtruſt⯑ful!—I never ſaw the like in my Life!—But I ſee, ſaid ſhe, I was not wrong, while my old Orders laſted, to be wary of you both—I ſhould have had a hard Taſk to prevent you, I find; for, as the Saying is, Nought can reſtrain Conſent of Twain.
[193]I doubted not her taking hold of his joyful In⯑diſcretion.—I took her Letter, and ſaid, Here Mrs. Jewkes, is yours; I thank you for it; but I have been ſo long in a Maze, that I can ſay nothing of this for the preſent. Time will bring all to Light.— Sir, ſaid I, here is yours: May every thing turn to your Happineſs! I give you Joy of my Maſter's Good⯑neſs in the Living—It will be dying, ſaid he, not a Living, without you.—Forbear, Sir, ſaid I: While I've a Father and Mother, I am not my own Miſtreſs, poor as they are: And I'll ſee my ſelf quite at Li⯑berty before I ſhall think my ſelf fit to make a Choice.
Mrs. Jewkes held up her Eyes and Hands, and ſaid, Such Art, ſuch Caution, ſuch Cunning, for thy Years!—Well!—Why, ſaid I, (that he might be more on his Guard, tho' I hope there cannot be Deceit in this; 'twould be ſtrange Villany, and that is a hard Word, if there ſhould!) I have been ſo uſed to be made a Fool of by Fortune, that I hardly can tell how to govern my ſelf; and am al⯑moſt an Infidel as to Mankind.—But, I hope I may be wrong; henceforth, Mrs. Jewkes, you ſhall re⯑gulate my Opinions as you pleaſe, and I will conſult you in every thing—(that I think proper, ſaid I to myſelf)—for to be ſure, tho' I may forgive her, I can never love her.
She left Mr. Williams and me, a few Minutes, together; and I ſaid, Conſider Sir, conſider what you have done. 'Tis impoſſible, ſaid he, there can be Deceit. I hope ſo, ſaid I; but what Neceſſity was there for you to talk of your former Declaration? Let this be as it will, that could do no Good, eſpe⯑cially before this Woman. Forgive me, Sir; they talk of Womens Promptneſs of Speech; but indeed I ſee an honeſt Heart is not always to be truſted with itſelf in bad Company.
[194]He was going to reply; but, tho' her Taſk is ſaid to be ALMOST (I took Notice of that Word) at an End ſhe came up to us again; and ſaid, Well, I had a good mind to ſhew you the way to Church to⯑morrow. I was glad of this, becauſe tho' in my preſent doubtful Situation, I ſhould not have choſen it, yet I would have encourag'd her Propoſal, to be able to judge by her being in Earneſt or otherwiſe, whether one might depend upon the reſt. But Mr. Williams again indiſcreetly help'd her to an Excuſe; by ſaying, that it was now beſt to defer it one Sunday, and till Matters were riper for my Appearance; and ſhe readily took hold of it, and confirm'd his Opinion.
After all, I hope the beſt; but if this ſhould turn out to be a Plot, I fear nothing but a Miracle can ſave me. But ſure, the Heart of Man is not capable of ſuch black Deceit. Beſides, Mr. Williams has it under his own Hand, and he dare not but be in Ear⯑neſt; and then again, tho' to be ſure he has been very wrong to me, yet his Education, and Parents Example, have neither of them taught him ſuch very black Contrivances. So I will hope for the beſt!
Mr. Williams, Mrs. Jewkes and I, have been all three walking together in the Garden; and ſhe pull'd out her Key, and we walk'd a little in the Paſture to look at the Bull, an ugly, grim, ſurly Creature, that hurt the poor Cook-maid; who is got pretty well again. Mr. Williams pointed at the Sun-flower, but I was forc'd to be very reſerved to him; for the poor Gentleman has no Guard, no Caution at all.
We have juſt ſupp'd together, all three; and I cannot yet think but all muſt be right.—Only I am reſolv'd not to marry, if I can help it; and I will give no Encouragement, I am reſolv'd, at leaſt, till I am with you.
[195]Mr. Williams ſaid, before Mrs. Jewkes, he would ſend a Meſſenger with a Letter to my Father and Mother!—I think the Man has no Diſcretion in the World: But I deſire you will give no Anſwer till I have the Pleaſure and Happineſs, which now I hope for ſoon, of ſeeing you. He will, in ſending my Pacquet, ſend a moſt tedious Parcel of Stuff, of my Oppreſſions, my Diſtreſſes, my Fears; and ſo I will ſend this with it (for Mrs. Jewkes gives me Leave to ſend a Letter to my Father, which looks well); and I am glad I can conclude, after all my Sufferings, with my Hopes, to be ſoon with you, which I know will give you Comfort; and ſo I reſt, begging the Continuance of your Prayers, and Bleſſings,
I Have ſo much Time upon my Hands, that I muſt write on to employ myſelf. The Sunday Evening, where I left off, Mrs. Jewkes aſked me, If I choſe to lie by myſelf? I ſaid, Yes, with all my Heart, if ſhe pleaſed. Well, ſaid ſhe, after to⯑night you ſhall. I aſk'd her for more Paper, and ſhe gave me a little Bottle of Ink, eight Sheets of Paper, which ſhe ſaid was all her Store, (for now ſhe would get me to write for her to our Maſter, if ſhe had Occaſion) and ſix Pens, with a piece of Sealing-wax. This looks mighty well!
She preſs'd me, when ſhe came to Bed, very much, to give Encouragement to Mr. Williams, and ſaid many things in his Behalf; and blam'd my Shyneſs to him. I told her, I was reſolv'd to give no Encouragement till I had talk'd to my Father and Mother. She ſaid, ſhe fancy'd I thought of ſome⯑body elſe, or I could never be ſo inſenſible. I aſſur'd [196] her, as I could do very ſafely, that there was not a Man on Earth I wiſh'd to have; and, as to Mr. Williams, he might do better by far, and I had pro⯑poſed ſo much Happineſs in living with my poor Father and Mother, that I could not think of any Scheme of Life, with Pleaſure, till I had try'd that. I ask'd her for my Money; and ſhe ſaid it was above in her ſtrong Box, but that I ſhall have it to-morrow. All theſe Things look well, as I ſaid.
Mr. Williams would go home this Night, tho' late, becauſe he would diſpatch a Meſſenger to you with a Letter he had propos'd from himſelf, and my Pacquet. But pray don't encourage him, as I ſaid; for he is much too heady and precipitate as to this Matter, in my way of thinking; tho', to be ſure, he is a very good Man, and I am much oblig'd to him.
MONDAY Morning.
ALas-a-day! we have bad News from poor Mr. Williams. He has had a ſad Miſchance; fallen among Rogues in his Way home laſt Night; but by good Chance has ſav'd my Papers. This is the Account he gives of it to Mrs. Jewkes.
‘'I Have had a ſore Misfortune in going from you. When I had got as near the Town as the Dam, and was going to croſs the Wooden-bridge, two Fel⯑lows got hold of me, and ſwore bitterly they would kill me, if I did not give them what I had. They romag'd my Pockets, and took from me my Snuff-Box, my Seal-ring, and Half a Guinea, and ſome Silver, and Half-pence; alſo my Handkerchief, [197] and two or three Letters I had in my Pocket. By good Fortune the Letter Mrs. Pamela gave me was in my Boſom, and ſo that eſcap'd; but they bruis'd my Head, and Face, and, curſing me for having no more Money, tipt me into the Dam, Crying, Lie there, Parſon, till to-morrow! My Shins and Knees were bruis'd much in the Fall againſt one of the Stumps; and I had like to have been ſuffocated in Water and Mudd. To be ſure, I ſhan't be able to ſtir out this Day or two. For I am a fearful Spectacle! My Hat and Wig I was forc'd to leave behind me, and go home a Mile and a half without; but they were found next Morning, and brought me, with my Snuff-box, which the Rogues muſt have dropt. My Caſſock is ſadly torn, as is my Band. To be ſure, I was much frighted; for a Robbery in theſe Parts has not been known many Years. Diligent Search is making after the Rogues. My humbleſt Reſpects to good Mrs. Pamela. If ſhe pities my Misfortunes, I ſhall be the ſooner well, and fit to wait on her and you. This did not hinder me in writing a Letter, tho' with great Pain, as I do this. [To be ſure this good Man can keep no Secret!] and ſending it away by a Man and Horſe, this Morning. I am, good Mrs. Jewkes,’
‘'God be prais'd it is no worſe! and I find I have got no Cold, tho' miſerably wet from Top to Toe. My Fright, I believe, prevented me from catching Cold; for I was not rightly myſelf for ſome Hours, and know not how I got home. I will write a Letter of Thanks this Night, if I am able, to my kind Patron for his ineſtimable Goodneſs to me, I wiſh I was enabled to [198] ſay all I hope, with regard to the better Part of his Bounty to me, incomparable Mrs. Pa⯑mela.'’
The wicked Brute fell a laughing when ſhe had read this Letter, till her fat Sides ſhook; ſaid ſhe, I can but think how the poor Parſon look'd, after parting with his pretty Miſtreſs in ſuch high Spirits, when he found himſelf at the bottom of the Dam! And what a Figure he muſt cut in his tatter'd Band and Caſſock, and without Hat and Wig, when he got Home. I warrant, ſaid ſhe, he was in a ſweet Pickle!—I ſaid, I thought it was very barbarous to laugh at ſuch a Misfortune: But ſhe ſaid, As he was ſafe, ſhe laughed; otherwiſe ſhe ſhould have been ſorry: And ſhe was glad to ſee me ſo concern'd for him—It look'd promiſing, ſhe ſaid.
I heeded not her Reflection; but as I have been uſed to Cauſes for Miſtruſts, I cannot help ſaying, that I don't like this thing: And their taking his Letters moſt alarms me.—How happy it was, they miſs'd my Pacquet! I know not what to think of it!—But why ſhould I let every Accident break my Peace? But yet it will do ſo while I ſtay here.
Mrs. Jewkes is mightily at me, to go with her in the Chariot, to viſit Mr. Williams. She is ſo offici⯑ous to bring on the Affair between us, that being a cunning, artful Woman, I know not what to make of it: I have refuſed her abſolutely; urging, that except I intended to encourage his Suit, I ought not to do it. And ſhe is gone without me.
I have ſtrange Temptations to get away in her Abſence, for all theſe fine Appearances. 'Tis ſad to have no body to adviſe with!—I know not what to do. But, alas for me! I have no Money, if I ſhould, to buy any body's Civilities, or to pay for [199] Neceſſaries or Lodging. But I'll go into the Gar⯑den, and reſolve afterwards.—
I have been in the Garden, and to the Back-door; and there I ſtood, my Heart up at my Mouth. I could not ſee I was watch'd; ſo this looks well. But if any thing ſhould go bad afterwards, I ſhould never forgive myſelf, for not taking this Opportunity. Well, I will go down again, and ſee if all is clear, and how it looks out at the Back-door in the Paſture.
To be ſure, there is Witchcraft in this Houſe; and I believe Lucifer is bribed, as well as all about me, and is got into the Shape of that naſty grim Bull, to watch me!—For I have been down again; and ventur'd to open the Door, and went out about a Bow-ſhoot into the Paſture; but there ſtood that horrid Bull, ſtaring me full in the Face, with fiery ſaucer Eyes, as I thought. So, I got in again; for fear he ſhould come at me. Nobody ſaw me, however.—Do you think there are ſuch things as Witches and Spirits? if there be, I believe in my Heart, Mrs. Jewkes has got this Bull of her Side. But yet, what could I do without Money or a Friend? —O this wicked Woman! to trick me ſo! Every thing, Man, Woman, and Beaſt, is in a Plot againſt your poor Pamela, I think!—Then I know not one ſtep of the way, nor how far to any Houſe or Cottage; and whether I could gain Pro⯑tection, if I got to a Houſe: And now the Robbers are abroad too, I may run into as great Danger, as I want to eſcape from; nay, greater much, if theſe promiſing Appearances hold: And ſure my Maſter cannot be ſo black as that they ſhould not!—What can I do?—I have a good mind to try for it once more; but then I may be purſued and taken; and it will be worſe for me; and this wicked Woman [197] [...] [198] [...] [199] will beat me, and take my Shoes away, and lock me up.
But after all, if my Maſter ſhould mean well, he can't be angry at my Fears, if I ſhould eſcape; and no body can blame me; and I can more eaſily be induced with you, when all my Apprehenſions are over, to conſider his Propoſal of Mr. Williams, than I could here; and he pretends as you have read in his Letter, he will leave me at my Choice: Why then ſhould I be afraid? I will go down again, I think! But yet my Heart miſgives me, becauſe of the Difficulties before me, in eſcaping; and being ſo poor and ſo friendleſs! — O good God! the Pre⯑ſerver of the Innocent! direct me what to do! —
Well, I have juſt now a ſort of ſtrange Per⯑ſuaſion upon me, that I ought to try to get away, and leave the Iſſue to Providence. So, once more?— I'll ſee, at leaſt, if this Bull be ſtill there!
Alack-a-day! what a Fate is this! I have not the Courage to go, neither can I think to ſtay. But I muſt reſolve. The Gardner was in Sight laſt time! ſo made me come up again. But I'll contrive to ſend him out of the way, if I can!—For if I never ſhould have ſuch another Opportunity, I could not forgive myſelf. Once more I'll venture, God direct my Footſteps, and make ſmooth my Path and my Way to Safety!
Well, here I am, come back again! frighted like a Fool, out of all my Purpoſes! O how terrible every thing appears to me! I had got twice as far again, as I was before, out of the Back door; and I looked, and ſaw the Bull, as I thought, between me and the Door; and another Bull coming towards me the other way: Well, thought I, here is double Witchcraft, to be ſure! Here is the Spirit of my [201] Maſter in one Bull; and Mrs. Jewkes's in the other: and now I am gone, to be ſure! O help! cry'd I, like a Fool, and run back to the Door, as ſwift as if I flew. When I had got the Door in my Hand, I ventur'd to look back, to ſee if theſe ſuppoſed Bulls were coming; and I ſaw they were only two poor Cows, a grazing in diſtant Places, that my Fears had made all this Rout about. But as eve⯑ry thing is ſo frightful to me, I find I am not fit to think of my Eſcape: For I ſhall be as much frighted at the firſt ſtrange Man that I meet with. And I am perſuaded, that Fear brings one into more Dangers, than the Caution, that goes along with it, delivers one from.
I then locked the Door, and put the Key in my Pocket, and was in a ſad Quandary; but I was ſoon determined; for the Maid Nan came in Sight, and asked, if any thing was the matter, that I was ſo often up and down Stairs? God forgive me; but I had a ſad Lye at my Tongue's End: ſaid I, Tho' Mrs. Jewkes is ſometimes a little hard upon me, yet I know not where I am without her: I go up, and I come down to walk about in the Garden: and not having her, know ſcarcely what to do with my⯑ſelf. Ay, ſaid the Idiot, ſhe is main good Com⯑pany, Madam; no wonder you miſs her.
So here I am again; and here likely to be; for I have no Courage to help myſelf any-where elſe. O why are poor fooliſh Maidens try'd with ſuch Dan⯑gers, when they have ſuch weak Minds to grapple with them! — I will, ſince it is ſo, hope the beſt: But yet I cannot but obſerve how grievouſly every thing makes againſt me: For here are the Robbers; tho' I fell not into their Hands myſelf, yet they gave me as much Terror: and had as great an Ef⯑fect upon my Fears, as if I had: And here is the [202] Bull; it has as effectually frighten'd me, as if I had been hurt by it inſtead of the Cook-maid; and ſo they join'd together, as I may ſay, to make a very Daſtard of me. But my Folly was the worſt of all; for that deprived me of my Money, for had I had that, I believe I ſhould have ventur'd the other Two.
MONDAY Afternoon.
SO, Mrs. Jewkes is returned from her Viſit: Well, ſaid ſhe, I would have you ſet your Heart at reſt; for Mr. Williams will do very well again. He is not half ſo badly off as he fancy'd. O theſe Scholars, ſaid ſhe, they have not the Hearts of Mice! He has only a few Scratches on his Face; which, ſaid ſhe, I ſuppoſe he got by grabbling among the Gravel, at the bottom of the Dam, to try to find a Hole in the Ground, to hide himſelf from the Robbers. His Shin and his Knee are hardly to be ſeen to all any thing. He ſays in his Letter, he was a fright⯑ful Spectacle: He might be ſo indeed, when he firſt came in a-doors; but he looks well enough now; and, only for a few Groans now-and-then, when he thinks of his Danger, I ſee nothing is the matter with him. So, Mrs. Pamela, ſaid ſhe, I would have you be very eaſy about it. I am glad of it, ſaid I, for all your Jokes, Mrs. Jewkes.
Well, ſaid ſhe, he talks of nothing but you; and when I told him, I would fain have perſuaded you to come with me, the Man was out of his Wits with his Gratitude to me: and ſo has laid open all his Heart to me, and told me all that has paſſed, and was contriving between you two. This alarm'd me prodigiouſly; and the rather, as I ſaw, by two or three Inſtances, that his honeſt Heart could keep nothing, believing every one as undeſigning as himſelf. [203] I ſaid, but yet with a heavy Heart, ah, Mrs. Jewkes, Mrs. Jewkes, this might have done with me, had he had any thing that he could have told you of. But you know well enough, that had we been diſ⯑poſed, we had no Opportunity for it, from your watchful Care and Circumſpection. No, ſaid ſhe, that's very true, Mrs. Pamela; not ſo much as for that Declaration that he own'd before me, he had found Opportunity, for all my Watchfulneſs, to make you. Come, come, ſaid ſhe, no more of theſe Shams with me! You have an excellent Head⯑piece for your Years; but may-be I am as cunning as you.—However ſaid ſhe, all is well now; be⯑cauſe my Watchments are now over, by my Ma⯑ſter's Direction. How have you employ'd yourſelf in my Abſence?
I was ſo troubled at what might have paſſed be⯑tween Mr. Williams and her, that I could not hide it. And ſhe ſaid, Well, Mrs. Pamela, ſince all Mat⯑ters are likely to be ſo ſoon and ſo happily ended, let me adviſe you to be a little leſs concern'd at his Diſcoveries: and make me your Confident, as he has done, and I ſhall think you have ſome Favour for me, and Reliance upon me; and perhaps you might not repent it.
She was ſo earneſt, that I miſtruſted ſhe did this to pump me; and I knew how, now, to account for her Kindneſs to Mr. Williams in her Viſit to him; which was only to get out of him what ſhe could. Why, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, is all this fiſhing about for ſomething, where there is nothing, if there be an end of your Watchments, as you call them? Nothing, ſaid ſhe, but Womaniſh Curioſity, I'll aſſure you; for one is naturally led to find out Mat⯑ters, where there is ſuch Privacy intended. Well, ſaid I, pray let me know what he has ſaid; and then I'll give you an Anſwer to your Curioſity. I don't [204] care, ſaid ſhe, whether you do or not; for I have as much as I wanted from him; and I deſpair of getting out of you any thing you han't a mind I ſhould know, my little cunning Dear. — Well, ſaid I, let him have ſaid what he would, I care not: for I am ſure he can ſay no Harm of me; and ſo let us change the Talk.
I was the eaſier indeed; becauſe, for all her Pumps, ſhe gave no Hints of the Key and the Door, &c. which had he communicated to her, ſhe would not have forborn giving me a Touch of. — And ſo we gave up one another, as deſpairing to gain our Ends of each other. But I am ſure he muſt have ſaid more than he ſhould. — And I am the more apprehenſive all is not right, becauſe ſhe has now been actually, theſe two Hours, ſhut up a writing; tho' ſhe pretended ſhe had given me up all her Stores of Paper, &c. and that I ſhould write for her. I begin to wiſh I had ventur'd every thing, and gone off, when I might. O when will this State of Doubt and Uneaſineſs end!
She has juſt been with me, and ſays ſhe ſhall ſend a Meſſenger to Bedfordſhire; and he ſhall carry a Letter of Thanks for me, if I will write it, for my Maſter's Favour to me. Indeed, ſaid I, I have no Thanks to give, till I am with my Father and Mo⯑ther: And beſides, I ſent a Letter, as you know, but have had no Anſwer to it. She ſaid, ſhe thought that his Letter to Mr. Williams was ſufficient; and the leaſt I could do, was to thank him, if but in two Lines. No need of it, ſaid I; for I don't intend to have Mr. Williams: What then is that Letter to me? Well, ſaid ſhe, I ſee thou art quite unfathomable!
I don't like all this. O my fooliſh Fears of Bulls and Robbers!— For now all my Uneaſineſs begins to double upon me. O what has this uncautious [205] Man ſaid! That, no doubt, is the Subject of her long Letter.
I will cloſe this Day's writing, with juſt ſaying, that ſhe is mighty ſilent and reſerved, to what ſhe was, and ſays nothing but No, or Yes, to what I ask. Something muſt be hatching, I doubt!— I the rather think ſo, becauſe I find ſhe does not keep her word with me, about lying by myſelf, and my Money; to both which Points, ſhe returned ſuſpi⯑cious Anſwers, ſaying, as to the one, Why you are mighty earneſt for your Money: I ſhan't run away with it: And to the other, Good lack! you need not be ſo willing, as I know of, to part with me for a Bedfellow, till you are ſure of one you like better. This cut me to the Heart!—And at the ſame time ſtopt my Mouth.
TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY.
MR. Williams has been here; but we have had no Opportunity to talk together: He ſeem'd confounded at Mrs. Jewkes's Change of Temper, and Reſervedneſs, after her kind Viſit, and their Free⯑dom with one another, and much more at what I am going to tell you. He asked, if I would take a Turn in the Garden with Mrs. Jewkes and him. No, ſaid ſhe, I can't go. Said he, may not Mrs. Pamela take a Walk? — No, ſaid ſhe; I deſire ſhe won't. Why, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid he? I am afraid I have ſome-how diſobliged you. Not at all, reply'd ſhe; but I ſuppoſe you will ſoon be at Liberty to walk together as much as you pleaſe: And I have ſent a Meſſenger for my laſt Inſtructions, about this and more weighty Matters; and when they come, I ſhall leave you to do as you both will; but till then, it is no matter how little you are together. This alarm'd us both; and he ſeem'd quite ſtruck of a [206] Heap, and put on, as I thought, a ſelf-accuſing Countenance. So I went behind her Back, and held my two Hands together, flat, with a Bit of Pa⯑per, I had, between them, and looked at him; and he ſeemed to take me, as I intended, intimating the renewing of the Correſpondence by the Tiles.
So I left them both together, and retired to my Cloſet, to write a Letter for the Tiles; but having no Time for a Copy, I will give you the Subſtance only.
I expoſtulated with him on his too great Openneſs and Eaſineſs to fall into Mrs. Jewkes's Snares; told him my Apprehenſions of foul Play; and gave briefly the Reaſons which moved me: Begg'd to know what he had ſaid; and intimated, that I thought there was the higheſt Reaſon to reſume our Project of the Eſcape by the Back-Door. I put this in the uſual Place, in the Evening, and now wait with Impatience for an Anſwer.
THURSDAY.
I Have the following Anſwer:
‘'I Am utterly confounded, and muſt plead guilty to all your juſt Reproaches. I wiſh I were Maſter of but half your Caution and Diſcretion! I hope, after all, this is only a Touch of this ill Woman's Temper, to ſhew her Power and Im⯑portance: For I think Mr. B. neither can nor dare deceive me in ſo black a manner. I would ex⯑poſe him all the World over, if he did. But it is not, cannot be in him. I have received a Letter from John Arnold; in which he tells me, that his Maſter is preparing for his London Journey; and believes, afterwards, he will come into theſe Parts. [207] But he ſays, Lady Davers is at their Houſe, and is to accompany her Brother to London, or meet him there, he knows not which. He profeſſes great Zeal and Affection to your Service. But I find he refers to a Letter he ſent me before, but which is not come to my Hand. I think there can be no Treachery; for it is a particular Friend at Gainſborough, that I have order'd him to direct to; and this is come ſafe to my Hands by this means; for well I know, I durſt truſt nothing to Brett, at the Poſt-houſe here. This gives me a little Pain; but I hope all will end well, and we ſhall ſoon hear, if it be neceſſary to purſue our former Intentions. If it be, I will loſe no time to provide a Horſe for you, and another for my⯑ſelf; for I can never do either God or myſelf better Service, tho' I were to forego all my Ex⯑pectations for it here. I am’
‘'I was too free indeed with Mrs. Jewkes, led to it by her Diſſimulation, and by her pretended Concern to make me happy with you. I hint⯑ed, that I would not have ſcrupled to have procured your Deliverance by any means: and that I had propoſed to you, as the only honourable one, Marriage with me. But I aſ⯑ſured her, tho' ſhe would hardly believe me, that you diſcouraged my Application. Which is too true! But not a Word of the Back-door, Key, &c.’
Mrs. Jewkes continues ſtill ſullen and ill-natur'd; and I am almoſt, afraid, to ſpeak to her. She watches me as cloſe as ever, and pretends to wonder why I ſhun her Company as I do.
[208]I have juſt put under the Tiles theſe Lines; in⯑ſpired by my Fears, which are indeed very ſtrong; and, I doubt, not without Reaſon.
‘'EVERY thing gives me additional Diſturb⯑ance. The miſs'd Letter of John Arnold's makes me ſuſpect a Plot. Yet am I loth to think myſelf of ſo much Importance, as to ſuppoſe every one in a Plot againſt me. Are you ſure however, the London Journey is not to be a Lincolnſhire one; may not John, who has been once a Traitor, be ſo again? — Why need I be thus in doubt? — If I could have this Horſe, I would turn the Reins on his Neck, and truſt to Providence to guide him for my Safeguard! For I would not endanger you, now juſt upon the Edge of your Preferment. Yet, Sir, I fear your fatal Openneſs will make you ſuſpected as acceſſary, let us be ever ſo cautious.’
‘'Were my Life in queſtion, inſtead of my Ho⯑neſty, I would not wiſh to involve you, or any body, in the leaſt Difficulty for ſo worthleſs a poor Creature. But, O Sir! my Soul is of equal Im⯑portance with the Soul of a Princeſs; though my Quality is inferior to that of the meaneſt Slave.’
‘'Save then, my Innocence, good Heaven, and pre⯑ſerve my Mind ſpotleſs; and happy ſhall I be to lay down my worthleſs Life, and ſee an End to all my Troubles and Anxieties!’
‘'Forgive my Impatience: But my preſaging Mind bodes horrid Miſchiefs! — Every thing looks dark around me; and this Woman's impenetrable Sul⯑lenneſs and Silence, without any apparent Reaſon, from a Conduct ſo very contrary, bids me fear the worſt. — Blame me, Sir, if you think me [209] wrong; and let me have your Advice what to do: which will oblige’
FRIDAY.
I Have this half-angry Anſwer; but, what is more to me than all the Letters in the World could be, yours, my dear Father, incloſed.
‘'I Think you are too apprehenſive by much. I am ſorry for your Uneaſineſs. You may de⯑pend upon me, and all I can do. But I make no doubt of the London Journey, nor of John's Con⯑trition and Fidelity. I have juſt received, from my Gainsborough Friend, this Letter, as I ſuppoſe, from your good Father, in a Cover, directed for me, as I had deſired. I hope it contains nothing to add to your Uneaſineſs. Pray, deareſt Madam, lay aſide your Fears, and wait a few Days for the Iſſue of Mrs. Jewkes's Letter, and mine of Thanks to Mr. B. Things, I hope, muſt be better than you expect. Providence will not de⯑ſert ſuch Piety and Innocence; and be this your Comfort and Reliance. Which is the beſt Ad⯑vice that can at preſent be given, by’
N. B. The Father's Letter was as follows:
‘'OUR Prayers are at length heard, and we are overwhelmed with Joy. O what Suffer⯑ings, what Trials haſt thou gone thro'! Bleſſed be the Divine Goodneſs, which has enabled thee [210] to withſtand ſo many Temptations! We have not yet had Leiſure to read thro' your long Accounts of all your Hardſhips. I ſay long, becauſe I won⯑der how you could find Time and Opportunity for them; but otherwiſe, they are the Delight of our ſpare Hours; and we ſhall read them over and over, as long as we live, with Thankfulneſs to God, who has given us ſo virtuous and ſo diſ⯑creet a Daughter. How happy is our Lot, in the midſt of our Poverty! O let none ever think Chil⯑dren a Burden to them; when the pooreſt Circum⯑ſtances can produce ſo much Riches in a Pamela! Perſiſt, my dear Daughter, in the ſame excellent Courſe; and we ſhall not envy the higheſt Eſtate, but defy them to produce ſuch a Daughter as ours.’
‘'I ſaid, we had not read thro' all yours in Courſe. We were too impatient, and ſo turn'd to the End; where we find your Virtue within View of its Re⯑ward, and your Maſter's Heart turn'd to ſee the Folly of his Ways, and the Injury he had intended to our dear Child. For, to be ſure, my Dear, he would have ruin'd you, if he could. But ſee⯑ing your Virtue, his Heart is touched; and he has, no doubt, been awaken'd by your good Ex⯑ample.’
‘'We don't ſee that you can do any way ſo well, as to come into the preſent Propoſal, and make Mr. Williams, the worthy Mr. Williams! God bleſs him!—happy. And tho' we are poor, and can add no Merit, no Reputation, no Fortune to our dear Child, but rather muſt be a Diſgrace to her, as the World will think; yet I hope I do not ſin in my Pride, to ſay, that there is no good Man, of a common Degree (eſpecially as your late Lady's Kindneſs gave you ſuch good Opportunities, which you have had the Grace to improve) but may think himſelf happy in you, But, as you ſay, [211] you had rather not marry at preſent, far be it from us to offer Violence to your Inclinations. So much Prudence as you have ſhewn in all your Conduct, would make it very wrong in us to miſ⯑truſt it in this, or to offer to direct you in your Choice. But, alas! my Child, what can we do for you?—To partake our hard Lot, and involve yourſelf into as hard a Life, would not help us; but add to our Afflictions. But it is time enough to talk of theſe things, when we have the Pleaſure you now put us in Hope of, of ſeeing you with us; which God grant.’ Amen, Amen, ſay
‘'Our humbleſt Service and Thanks to the wor⯑thy Mr. Williams. Again, we ſay, God bleſs him for ever!’
‘'O what a deal we have to ſay to you! God give us a happy Meeting! We underſtand the 'Squire is ſetting out for London. He is a fine Gentleman, and has Wit at Will. I wiſh he was as good. But I hope he will now reform.'’
O what inexpreſſible Comfort, my dear Father, has your Letter given me. You aſk, What can you do for me!—What is it you cannot do for your Child!— You can give her the Advice ſhe has ſo much wanted, and ſtill wants, and will always want: You can confirm her in the Paths of Virtue, into which you firſt initiated her; and you can pray for her, with Hearts ſo ſincere and pure, that are not to be met with in Palaces!—Oh! how I long to throw myſelf at your Feet, and receive from your own Lips, the Bleſſings of ſuch good Parents! But, alas! how are my Proſpects again over-clouded to what they [212] were when I cloſed my laſt Parcel!—More Trials, more Dangers, I fear, muſt your poor Pamela be engaged in: But, thro' the Divine Goodneſs, and your Prayers, I hope, at laſt, to get well out of all my Difficulties; and the rather, as they are not the Effect of my own Vanity or Preſumption!
But I will proceed with my hopeleſs Story. I ſaw Mr. Williams was a little nettled at my Impatience; and ſo I wrote to aſſure him I would be as eaſy as I could, and wholly directed by him; eſpecially as my Father, whoſe Reſpects I mentioned, had aſſured me, my Maſter was ſetting out for London, which he muſt have ſome-how from his own Family, or he would not have written me word of it.
SATURDAY, SUNDAY.
MR. Williams has been here both theſe Days, as uſual; but is very indifferently received ſtill by Mrs. Jewkes; and to avoid Suſpicion, I left them together, and went up to my Cloſet, moſt of the Time he was here. He and ſhe, I found by her, had a Quarrel; and ſhe ſeems quite out of Hu⯑mour with him; but I thought it beſt not to ſay any thing. And he ſaid, he would very little trouble the Houſe, till he had an Anſwer to his Letter from Mr. B. And ſhe return'd, The leſs, the better. Poor Man! he has got but little by his Openneſs, and making Mrs. Jewkes his Confident, as ſhe brag⯑ged, and would have had me to do likewiſe.
I am more and more ſatisfied there is Miſchief brewing, and ſhall begin to hide my Papers, and be circumſpect. She ſeems mighty impatient for an Anſwer to her Letter to my Maſter.
MONDAY, TUESDAY, the 25th and 26th Days of my heavy Reſtraint.
[213]STILL more and more ſtrange things to write. A Meſſenger is return'd, and now all is out! O wretched, wretched Pamela! What, at laſt, will be⯑come of me! — Such ſtrange Turns and Trials ſure never poor Creature of my Years, experienced. He brought two Letters, one to Mrs. Jewkes; and one to me: But, as the greateſt Wits may be ſometimes miſtaken, they being folded and ſealed alike, that for me, was directed to Mrs. Jewkes; and that for her, was directed to me. But both are ſtark naught, abominably bad! She brought me up that directed for me, and ſaid, Here's a Letter for you: Long look'd-for is come at laſt. I will ask the Meſſenger a few Queſtions, and then I will read mine. So ſhe went down, and I broke it open in my Cloſet, and found it directed, To Mrs. PAMELA ANDREWS. But when I open'd it, it began, Mrs. Jewkes. I was quite confounded; but, thinks I, this may be a lucky Miſtake; I may diſcover ſome⯑thing. And ſo I read on theſe horrid Contents:
‘'WHAT you write me, has given me no ſmall Diſturbance. This wretched Fool's Play-thing, no doubt, is ready to leap at any thing that offers, rather than expreſs the leaſt Senſe of Gratitude for all the Benefits ſhe has received from my Family, and which I was determined more and more to heap upon her. I reſerve her for my future Reſentment; and I charge you double your Diligence in watching her, to pre⯑vent her Eſcape. I ſend this by an honeſt Swiſs, who attended me in my Travels; a Man I [214] can truſt; and ſo let him be your Aſſiſtant: For the artful Creature is enough to corrupt a Nation by her ſeeming Innocence and Simplicity; and ſhe may have got a Party, perhaps, among my Servants with you, as ſhe has here. Even John Arnold, whom I confided in, and favour'd more than any, has proved an execrable Villain; and ſhall meet his Reward for it.’
‘'As to that College Novice Williams, I need not bid you take care he ſees not this painted Bauble; for I have order'd Mr. Shorter, my Attorney, to throw him inſtantly into Goal, on an Action of Debt, for Money he has had of me, which I had intended never to carry to account againſt him; for I know all his raſcally Practices; beſides what you write me of his perfidious Intrigue with that Girl, and his acknowledged Contrivances for her Eſcape; when he knew not, for certain, that I deſign'd her any Miſchief; and when, if he had been guided by a Senſe of Piety, or Compaſſion for injured In⯑nocence, as he pretends, he would have expoſtu⯑lated with me, as his Function, and my Friendſhip for him, might have allow'd him. But to enter into a vile Intrigue, charm'd, like a godly Senſua⯑liſt, with the amiable Gewgaw, to favour her Eſ⯑cape in ſo baſe a manner, (to ſay nothing of his diſgraceful Practices againſt me, in Sir Simon Darn⯑ford's Family; of which Sir Simon himſelf has in⯑form'd me) is a Conduct that, inſtead of prefer⯑ring the ingrateful Wretch, as I had intended, ſhall pull down upon him utter Ruin.’
'Monſieur Colbrand, my truſty Swiſs, will obey 'you without Reſerve, if my other Servants refuſe.
‘'As for her denying that ſhe encouraged his De⯑claration, I believe it not. 'Tis certain the ſpeak⯑ing Picture, with all that pretended Innocence, and Baſhfulneſs, would have run away with [215] him. Yes, ſhe would have run away with a Fellow that ſhe had been acquainted with (and that not intimately, if you was as careful as you ought to be) but few Days; at a time, when ſhe had the ſtrongeſt Aſſurances of my Honour to her.’
‘'Well, I think I now hate her perfectly; and tho' I will do nothing to her myſelf, yet I can bear, for the ſake of my Revenge, and my injur'd Honour, and ſlighted Love, to ſee any thing, even what ſhe moſt fears, be done to her; and then ſhe may be turned looſe to her evil Deſtiny, and echo to the Woods and Groves her piteous La⯑mentations for the Loſs of her fantaſtical Inno⯑cence, which the romantic Idiot makes ſuch a work about. I ſhall go to London, with my Siſter Davers; and the Moment I can diſengage myſelf, which perhaps may be in three Weeks from this time, I will be with you, and decide her Fate, and put an End to your Trouble. Mean time, be doubly careful; for this Innocent, as I have warn'd you, is full of Contrivances, I am’
I had but juſt read this dreadful Letter thro', when Mrs. Jewkes came up, in a great Fright, gueſſing at the Miſtake, and that I had her Letter; and ſhe found me with it open in my Hand, juſt ſinking away. What Buſineſs, ſaid ſhe, had you to read my Letter? and ſnatch'd it from me. You ſee, ſaid ſhe, looking upon it, it ſays, Mrs. Jewkes, at top: You ought in Manners, to have read no further. O add not, ſaid I, to my Afflictions! I ſhall be ſoon out of all your ways! This is too much! too much! I never can ſupport this!—and threw myſelf upon the Couch, in my Cloſet, and wept moſt bitterly. She read it in the next Room, and came in again [216] afterwards; Why this, ſaid ſhe, is a ſad Letter in⯑deed! I am ſorry for it: But I fear'd you would carry your Niceties too far!—Leave me, leave me, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, for a-while: I cannot ſpeak nor talk! —Poor Heart! ſaid ſhe; well, I'll come up again preſently, and hope to find you better. But here, take your own Letter; I wiſh you well, but this is a ſad Miſtake! And ſo ſhe put down by me, that which was intended for me. But I have no Spirit to read it at preſent. O Man! Man! hard-hearted, cruel Man! what Miſchiefs art thou not capable of, un⯑relenting Perſecutor as thou art!
I ſat ruminating, when I had a little come to my⯑ſelf, upon the Terms of this wicked Letter; and had no Inclination to look into my own. The bad Names, Fool's Plaything, artful Creature, painted Bauble, Gewgaw, ſpeaking Picture, are hard Words for your poor Pamela; and I began to think, whether I was not indeed a very naughty Body, and had not done vile Things: But when I thought of his having diſcover'd poor John, and of Sir Simon's baſe Offi⯑ciouſneſs, in telling him of Mr. Williams, with what he had reſolved againſt him, in Revenge for his Goodneſs to me, I was quite diſpirited; and yet ſtill more, about that fearful Colebrand, and what he could ſee done to me; for then I was ready to gaſp for Breath, and my Heart quite failed me. Then how dreadful are the Words, that he will de⯑cide my Fate in three Weeks! Gracious Heaven, ſaid I, ſtrike me dead before that time, with a Thunderbolt, or provide ſome way for my eſcaping theſe threaten'd Miſchiefs! God forgive me if I ſinned.
At laſt, I took up the Letter directed for Mrs. Jewkes, but deſigned for me; and I find that little better than the other. Theſe are the hard Terms it contains:
‘'WELL have you done, perverſe, forward, artful, yet fooliſh Pamela, to convince me, before it was too late, how ill I had done to place my Affections on ſo unworthy an Ob⯑ject. I had vow'd Honour and Love to your Unworthineſs, believing you a Mirror of baſhful Modeſty, and unſpotted Innocence; and that no perfidious Deſigns lurked in ſo fair a Boſom. But now I have found you out, you ſpecious Hypo⯑crite! and I ſee, that tho' you could not repoſe the leaſt Confidence in one you had known for Years, and who, under my good Mother's miſ⯑placed Favour for you, had grown up, in a man⯑ner, with you; when my Paſſion, in ſpite of my Pride, and the Difference of our Condition, made me ſtoop to a Meanneſs that now I deſpiſe my⯑ſelf for; yet you could enter into an Intrigue with a Man you never knew, till within theſe few Days paſt, and reſolve to run away with a Stranger, whom your fair Face, and inſinuating Arts, had bewitched to break thro' all the Ties of Honour and Gratitude to me, even at a Time when the Happineſs of his future Life depended upon my Favour.’
‘'Henceforth, for Pamela's ſake, whenever I ſee a lovely Face, will I miſtruſt a deceitful Heart: And whenever I hear of the greateſt Pretences to Innocence, will I ſuſpect ſome deep laid Miſchief. You were determin'd to place no Confidence in me, tho' I have ſolemnly, over and over, engaged my Honour to you. What, tho' I had alarm'd your Fears, in ſending you one way, when you hoped to go another; yet, had I not, to convince you of my Reſolution to do juſtly by you, (altho' with great Reluctance, ſuch then was my Love for you) engaged not to come near you without [218] your own Conſent? Was not this a voluntary De⯑monſtration of the Generoſity of my Intentions to you? Yet how have you requited me? The very firſt Fellow that your charming Face, and inſi⯑nuating Addreſs, could Influence, you have pra⯑ctis'd upon, corrupted too, I may ſay, (and even ruin'd, as the ingrateful Wretch ſhall find) and thrown your forward Self upon him. As there⯑fore you would place no Confidence in me, my Honour owes you nothing; and in a little time you ſhall find how much you have err'd in treating, as you have done, a Man, who was once’
‘'Mrs. Jewkes has Directions concerning you; And if your Lot is now harder than you might wiſh, you will bear it the eaſier, becauſe your own raſh Folly has brought it upon you.’
Alas! for me, what a Fate is mine, to be thus thought artful and forward, and ingrateful! when all I intended, was to preſerve my Innocence; and when all the poor little Shifts, which his ſuperior wicked Wit and Cunning have render'd ineffectual, were forced upon me in my own neceſſary De⯑fence!
When Mrs. Jewkes came up to me again, ſhe found me bathed in Tears. She ſeemed, as I thought, to be moved to ſome Compaſſion; and finding my⯑ſelf now intirely in her Power, and that it is not for me to provoke her, I ſaid. It is now, I ſee, in vain for me to contend againſt my evil Deſtiny, and the ſuperior Arts of my barbarous Maſter. I will reſign myſelf to the Divine Will, and prepare to expect the worſt. But you ſee how this poor Mr. Williams [219] is drawn in and undone; I am ſorry I am made the Cauſe of his Ruin:—Poor, poor Man!—to be taken in thus, and for my Sake too!—But, if you'll believe me, ſaid I, I gave no Encouragement to what he propoſed, as to Marriage; nor would he have propoſed it, I believe, but as the only honour⯑able way he thought was left to ſave me: And his principal Motive to it all, was Virtue and Com⯑paſſion to one in Diſtreſs. What other View could he have? You know I am poor and friendleſs. All I beg of you, is to let the poor Gentleman have No⯑tice of my Maſter's Reſentment; and let him flee the Country, and not be thrown into Goal: This will anſwer my Maſter's End as well; for it will as effectually hinder him from aſſiſting me, as if he was in a Priſon.
Aſk me, ſaid ſhe, to do any thing that is in my Power, conſiſtent with my Duty and Truſt, and I will do it; for I am ſorry for you both. But, to be ſure, I ſhall keep no Correſpondence with him, nor let you. I offer'd to talk of a Duty ſuperior to that ſhe mention'd, of, which would oblige her to help diſtreſſed Innocence, and not permit her to go the Lengths injoin'd by lawleſs Tyranny; but ſhe plainly bid me be ſilent on that Head; for it was in vain to attempt to perſuade her to betray her Truſt.— All I have to adviſe you, ſaid ſhe, is to be eaſy; lay aſide all your Contrivances and Arts to get away, and make me your Friend, by giving me no Reaſon to ſuſpect you; for, ſaid ſhe, I glory in my Fidelity to my Maſter: And you have both practiſed ſome ſtrange ſly Arts, to make ſuch a Progreſs as he has own'd there was between you, ſo ſeldom as, I thought, you ſaw one another; and I muſt be more circum⯑ſpect than I have been.
This doubled my Concern; for I now apprehend⯑ed I ſhould be much cloſer watch'd than before.
[220]Well, ſaid I, ſince I have, by this ſtrange Acci⯑dent, diſcover'd my hard Deſtiny, let me read over again that fearful Letter of yours, that I may get it by heart, and feed my Diſtreſs upon it; for now I have nothing elſe to think of, and muſt familiarize myſelf to Calamity. Then, ſaid ſhe, let me read yours again. I gave her mine, and ſhe lent me hers; and ſo I took a Copy of it, with her Leave; be⯑cauſe, as I ſaid, I would, by it, prepare myſelf for the worſt. And when I had done, I pinn'd it on the Head of the Couch: This, ſaid I, is the Uſe I ſhall make of this wretched Copy of your Letter; and here you ſhall always find it wet with my Tears.
She ſaid, She would go down to order Supper, and inſiſted upon my Company to it: I would have excuſed myſelf; but ſhe begun to put on a com⯑manding Air, that I durſt not oppoſe. And when I went down, ſhe took me by the Hand, and pre⯑ſented me to the moſt hideous Monſter I ever ſaw in my Life. Here, Monſieur Colbrand, ſaid ſhe, here is your pretty Ward and mine; let us try to make her Time with us eaſy. He bow'd, and put on his foreign Grimaces, and ſeem'd to bleſs himſelf! and, in broken Engliſh, told me, I was happy in de Affections of de vineſt Gentleman in de Varld!— I was quite frighten'd, and ready to drop down; and I will deſcribe him to you, my dear Father and Mother, if now you will ever ſee this; and you ſhall judge if I had not Reaſon, eſpecially not knowing he was to be there, and being appriz'd, as I was, of his hated Employment, to watch me cloſer.
He is a Giant of a Man, for Stature; taller by a good deal, than Harry Mawlidge, in your Neigh⯑bourhood, and large-bon'd, and ſcraggy; and has a Hand!—I never ſaw ſuch an one in my Life. He has great ſtaring Eyes, like the Bull's that frighten'd me ſo. Vaſt Jaw-bones ſticking out; Eyebrows [221] hanging over his Eyes; two great Scars upon his Forehead, and one on his left Cheek; and two huge Whiſkers, and a monſtrous wide Mouth; blubber Lips; long yellow Teeth, and a hideous Grin. He wears his own frightful long Hair, ty'd up in a great black Bag; a black Crape Neckloth, about a long ugly Neck; and his Throat ſticking out like a Wen. As to the reſt, he was dreſt well enough, and had a Sword on, with a naſty red Knot to it; Leather Garters, buckled below his Knees; and a Foot— near as long as my Arm, I verily think.
He ſaid, he fright de Lady, and offer'd to with⯑draw; but ſhe bid him not; and I told Mrs. Jewkes, That as ſhe knew I had been crying, ſhe ſhould not have called me to the Gentleman without letting me know he was there. I ſoon went up to my Cloſet; for my Heart aked all the time I was at Table; not being able to look upon him without Horror; and this Brute of a Woman, tho' ſhe ſaw my Diſtreſs, before this Addition to it, no doubt did it on purpoſe to ſtrike me more in Terror. And indeed it had its Effect; for when I went to-bed, I could think of nothing but his hideous Per⯑ſon, and my Maſter's more hideous Actions; and thought them too well pair'd; and when I dropt aſleep, I dream'd they were both coming to my Bed-ſide, with the worſt Deſigns; and I jump'd out of Bed in my Sleep, and frighted Mrs. Jewkes; till, waking with the Terror, I told her my Dream: And the wicked Creature only laughed, and ſaid, All I fear'd was but a Dream, as well as that; and when it was over, and I was well awake, I ſhould laugh at it as ſuch!
And now I am come to the Cloſe of WEDNES⯑DAY, the 27th Day of my Diſtreſs.
[222]POOR Mr. Williams is actually arreſted, and carried away to Stamford. So there is an End of all my Hopes in him. Poor Gentleman! his Over-ſecurity and Openneſs, have ruin'd us both! I was but too well convinced, that we ought not to have loſt a Moment's time; but he was half angry, and thought me too impatient; and then his fatal Confeſſions, and the deteſtable Artifice of my Ma⯑ſter!—But one might well think, that he who had ſo cunningly, and ſo wickedly, contrived all his Stra⯑tagems hitherto, that it was impoſſible to avoid them, would ſtick at nothing to complete them. I fear I ſhall ſoon find it ſo!
But one Stratagem I have juſt invented, tho' a very diſcouraging one to think of; becauſe I have neither Friends nor Money, nor know one Step of the Way, if I was out of the Houſe. But let Bulls, and Bears, and Lions, and Tygers, and, what is worſe, falſe, treacherous, deceitful Men, ſtand in my Way, I cannot be in more Danger than I am; and I depend nothing upon his three Weeks: For how do I know, now be is in ſuch a Paſſion, and has already begun his Vengeance on poor Mr. Wil⯑liams, that he will not change his Mind, and come down to Lincolnſhire before he goes to London?
My Stratagem is this; I will endeavour to get Mrs. Jewkes to go to-bed without me, as ſhe often does, while I ſit lock'd up in my Cloſet; and as ſhe ſleeps very ſound in her firſt Sleep, of which ſhe never fails to give Notice by ſnoring, if I can but then get out between the two Ears of the Window, (for you know, I am very ſlender, and I find I can get my Head thro'; then I can drop upon the Leads under⯑neath, [223] which are little more than my Height, and which Leads are over a little Summer-parlour, that juts out towards the Garden, and as I am light, I can eaſily drop from them; for they are not high from the Ground: Then I ſhall get into the Garden; and then, as I have the Key of the Back-door, I will get out. But I have another Piece of Cunning ſtill; good Heaven, ſucceed to me my dangerous, but innocent Devices! — I have read of a great Captain, who being in Danger, leap'd over-board, into the Sea; and his Enemies ſhooting at him with Bows and Arrows; he got off his upper Garment, and ſwam away, while they ſtuck that full of their Darts and Arrows; and he eſcaped, and triumphed over them all. So what will I do, but ſtrip off my upper Petticoat, and throw it into the Pond, with my Neck-handkerchief; for, to be ſure, when they miſs me, they will go to the Pond firſt, think⯑ing I have drowned myſelf; and ſo, when they ſee ſome of my Cloaths floating there, they will be all employ'd in dragging the Pond, which is a very large one: and as I ſhall not, perhaps, be miſs'd till the Morning, this will give me Opportunity to get a great way off; and I am ſure I will run for it when I am out. And ſo I truſt, that Providence will di⯑rect my Steps to ſome good Place of Safety, and make ſome worthy Body my Friend; for ſure, if I ſuffer ever ſo, I cannot be in more Danger, nor in worſe Hands, than where I am; and with ſuch avow'd bad Deſigns.
O my dear Parents! don't be frighted when you come to read this!—But all will be over before you can ſee it; and ſo God direct me for the beſt. My Writings, for fear I ſhould not eſcape, I will bury in the Garden; for, to be ſure, I ſhall be ſearch'd, and uſed dreadfully, if I can't get off. And [224] ſo I will cloſe here, for the preſent, to prepare for my Plot. Proſper thou, O gracious Protector of oppreſſed Innocence! this laſt Effort of thy poor Handmaid! that I may eſcape the crafty Devices and Snares that have begun to entangle my Vir⯑tue! and from which, but by this one Trial, I ſee no way of eſcaping! And Oh! whatever becomes of me, bleſs my dear Parents, and protect poor Mr. Williams from Ruin! for he was happy before he knew me!
Juſt now, juſt now! I heard Mrs. Jewkes, who is in her Cups, own, to the horrid Colbrand, that the robbing of poor Mr. Williams, was a Contrivance of hers, and executed by the Groom and a Helper, in order to ſeize my Letters upon him, which they miſs'd. They are now both laughing at the diſmal Story, which they little think I heard — O how my Heart akes! for what are not ſuch Wretches ca⯑pable of! Can you blame me for endeavouring, thro' any Danger, to get out of ſuch Clutches?
Paſt Eleven o'Clock.
MRS. Jewkes is come up, and gone to-bed; and bids me not ſtay long in my Cloſet, but come to-bed. O for a dead Sleep for the treache⯑rous Brute! I never ſaw her ſo tipſy, and that gives me Hopes. I have try'd again, and find I can get my Head thro' the Iron Bars. I am now all pre⯑pared, as ſoon as I hear her faſt; and now I'll ſeal up theſe and my other Papers, my laſt Work: And to thy Providence, O my gracious God, commit the reſt!—Once more, God bleſs you both! and ſend us a happy Meeting; if not here, in his heaven⯑ly Kingdom. Amen.
THURSDAY, FRIDAY, SATURDAY, SUNDAY, the 28th, 29th, 30th, and 31ſt Days of my Diſtreſs.
[225]AND Diſtreſs indeed! For here I am ſtill! And every thing has been worſe and worſe! Oh! the poor unhappy Pamela! — Without any Hope left, and ruin'd in all my Contrivances. But, Oh! my dear Parents, rejoice with me, even in this low Plunge of my Diſtreſs; for your poor Pamela has eſcap'd from an Enemy worſe than any ſhe ever met with; an Enemy ſhe never thought of before; and was hardly able to ſtand againſt. I mean, the Weak⯑neſs and Preſumption, both in one, of her own Mind! which had well nigh, had not divine Grace inter⯑poſed, ſunk her into the loweſt laſt Abyſs of Miſery and Perdition!
I will proceed, as I have Opportunity, with my ſad Relation: For my Pen and Ink (in my now doubly-ſecur'd Cloſet) is all that I have, beſides my own Weakneſs of Body, to employ myſelf with: And, till yeſterday Evening, I have not been able to hold a Pen.
I took with me but one Shift, beſides what I had on, and two Handkerchiefs, and two Caps, which my Pocket held, (for it was not for me to incumber myſelf) and all my Stock of Money, which was but five or ſix Shillings, to ſet out for I knew not where; and got out of the Window, not without ſome Diffi⯑culty, ſticking a little at my Shoulders and Hips; but I was reſolv'd to get out, if poſſible. And it was further from the Leads than I thought, and I was afraid I had ſprain'd my Ancle; and when I had dropt from the Leads to the Ground, it was ſtill further off; but I did pretty well there; at leaſt, I got no Hurt to hinder me from purſuing my Inten⯑tions: [226] So, being now on the Ground, I hid my Papers under a Roſe-buſh, and cover'd them over with Mould, and there they ſtill lie, as I hope. Then I hy'd away to the Pond: The Clock ſtruck Twelve, juſt as I got out; and it was a dark miſty Night, and coldiſh; but I felt none then.
When I came to the Pond-ſide, I flung in my Upper-coat, as I had deſign'd, and my Neck⯑handkerchief, and a round ear'd Cap, with a Knot; and then with great Speed ran to the Door, and took the Key out of my Pocket, my poor Heart beating all the Time againſt my Boſom, as if it would have forc'd its way thro' it: And beat it well might! For I then, too late, found, that I was moſt miſerably diſap⯑pointed; for the wicked Woman had taken off that Lock, and put another on; ſo that my Key would not open it. I try'd and try'd, and feeling about, I found a Padlock beſides, on another Part of the Door. O then how my Heart ſunk!—I dropt down with Grief and Confuſion, unable to ſtir or ſupport myſelf for a while. But my Fears awakening my Reſolution, and knowing that my Attempt would be as terrible for me, as any other Danger I could then encounter, I clamber'd up upon the Ledges of the Door, and upon the Lock, which was a great wooden one; and reached the Top of the Door with my Hands; then, little thinking I could climb ſo well, I made ſhift to lay hold on the Top of the Wall with my Hands; but, alas for me! nothing but ill Luck! — no Eſcape for poor Pamela! The Wall being old, the Bricks I held by, gave way, juſt as I was taking a Spring to get up, and down came I, and received ſuch a Blow upon my Head, with one of the Bricks, that it quite ſtunn'd me; and I broke my Shins and m [...] Ancle beſides, and beat off the Heel of one of my Shoes.
[227]In this dreadful way, flat upon the Ground, lay poor I, for I believe five or ſix Minutes; and when I would have got up, I could hardly ſtand; for I found I had bruis'd my left Hip and Shoulder, and was full of Pain with it; and beſides my Head bled, and ak'd with the Blow I had with the Brick.—Yet this I valued not! but crawl'd a good way, upon my Feet and Hands, in Search of a Ladder, I juſt recollected to have ſeen againſt the Wall two Days before, on which the Gardner was nailing a Ne⯑ctarine Branch, that was blown off from the Wall: But no Ladder could I find, and the Wall was very high. What now, thinks I, muſt become of the miſerable Pamela! — Then I began to wiſh myſelf moſt heartily again in my Cloſet, and to re⯑pent of my Attempt, which I now cenſur'd as raſh, becauſe it did not ſucceed.
God forgive me! but a ſad Thought came juſt then into my Head!—I tremble to think of it! Indeed my Apprehenſions of the Uſage I ſhould meet with, had like to have made me miſerable for ever! O my dear, dear Parents, forgive your poor Child; but being then quite deſperate, I crept along till I could get up on my Feet, tho' I could hardly ſtand; and away limp'd I!—What to do, but to throw myſelf into the Pond, and ſo put a Period to all my Griefs in this World!—But, Oh! to find them infinitely aggravated (had I not, by the Divine Grace, been with-held) in a miſerable Eternity! As I have eſcap'd this Temptation, (bleſſed be God for it!) I will tell you my Conflicts on this dreadful Occaſion, that the Divine Mercies may be magni⯑fy'd in my Deliverance, that I am yet on this Side the dreadful Gulph, from which there can be no Redemption.
[228]It was well for me, as I have ſince thought, that I was ſo maim'd, as made me the longer before I got to the Water; for this gave me ſome Re⯑flection, and abated that Impetuouſneſs of my Paſſions, which poſſibly might otherwiſe have hurry'd me in my firſt Tranſport of Grief, (on my ſeeing no way to eſcape, and the hard Uſage I had Reaſon to expect from my dreadful Keepers) to throw myſelf in without Conſideration; but my Weakneſs of Body made me move ſo ſlowly, that it gave Time for a little Reflection, a Ray of Grace, to dart in upon my benighted Mind; and ſo, when I came to the Pond-ſide, I ſat myſelf down on the ſloping Bank, and began to ponder my wretched Condition: And thus I reaſon'd with myſelf.
Pauſe here a little, Pamela, on what thou art about, before thou takeſt the dreadful Leap; and conſider whether there be no Way yet left, no Hope, if not to eſcape from this wicked Houſe, yet from the Miſchiefs threaten'd thee in it.
I then conſider'd, and after I had caſt about in my Mind, every thing that could make me hope, and ſaw no Probability; a wicked Woman devoid of all Compaſſion! a horrid Helper juſt arriv'd in this dreadful Colbrand! an angry and reſenting Maſter, who now hated me, and threaten'd the moſt afflict⯑ing Evils! and, that I ſhould, in all Probability, be depriv'd even of the Opportunity I now had before me, to free myſelf from all their Perſecutions. — What haſt thou to do, diſtreſſed Creature, ſaid I to myſelf, but throw thyſelf upon a merciful God, (who knows how innocently I ſuffer) to avoid the mercileſs Wickedneſs of thoſe who are determin'd on my Ruin?
And then thought I, (and Oh! that Thought was ſurely of the Devil's Inſtigation; for it was very ſooth⯑ing, and powerful with me) theſe wicked Wretches, [229] who now have no Remorſe, no Pity on me, will then be mov'd to lament their Miſdoings; and when they ſee the dead Corpſe of the unhappy Pamela dragg'd out to theſe ſlopy Banks, and lying breathleſs at their Feet, they will find that Remorſe to wring their ob⯑durate Hearts, which, now, has no Place there!— And my Maſter, my angry Maſter, will then forget his Reſentments, and ſay, O this is the unhappy Pamela! that I have ſo cauſeleſly perſecuted and de⯑ſtroy'd! Now do I ſee ſhe preferr'd her Honeſty to her Life, will he ſay, and is no Hypocrite, nor De⯑ceiver; but really was the innocent Creature ſhe pre⯑tended to be! Then, thinks I, will he, perhaps, ſhed a few Tears over the poor Corſe of his perſecuted Servant; and, tho' he may give out, it was Love and Diſappointment, and that too, (in order to hide his own Guilt) for the unfortunate Mr. Williams, perhaps; yet will he be inwardly griev'd, and order me a decent Funeral, and ſave me, or rather this Part of me, from the dreadful Stake, and the High⯑way Interrment; and the young Men and Maidens all around my dear Father's, will pity poor Pamela! But O! I hope I ſhall not be the Subject of their Ballads and Elegies; but that my Memory, for the ſake of my dear Father and Mother, may quickly ſlide into Oblivion!
I was once riſing, ſo indulgent was I to this ſad way of thinking, to throw myſelf in: But again, my Bruiſes made me ſlow; and I thought, What art thou about to do, wretched Pamela? how knoweſt thou, tho' the Proſpect be all dark to thy ſhort-ſighted Eye, what God may do for thee, even when all human Means fail? God Almighty would not lay me un⯑der theſe ſore Afflictions, if he had not given me Strength to grapple with them, if I will exert it as I ought: And who knows, but that the very Preſence I ſo much dread, of my angry and deſigning Maſter, [230] (for he has had me in his Power before, and yet I have eſcaped) may be better for me, than theſe perſe⯑cuting Emiſſaries of his, who, for his Money, are true to their wicked Truſt, and are harden'd by that, and a long Habit of Wickedneſs, againſt Com⯑punction of Heart; God can touch his Heart in an Inſtant; and if this ſhould not be done, I can then but put an End to my Life, by ſome other Means, if I am ſo reſolved.
But how do I know, thought I, that even theſe Bruiſes and Maims that I have gotten, while I purſu'd only the laudable Eſcape I had meditated, may not kindly furniſh me with the Opportunity I now am tempted to precipitate myſelf upon, and of ſurren⯑dering up my Life, ſpotleſs and unguilty, to that merciful Being who gave it!
Then, thought I, who gave thee, preſumptuous as thou art, a Power over thy Life? Who authoriz'd thee to put an End to it, when the Weakneſs of thy Mind ſuggeſts not to thee a Way to preſerve it with Honour? How knoweſt thou what Purpoſes God may have to ſerve, by the Trials with which thou art now tempted? Art thou to put a Bound to the Di⯑vine Will, and to ſay, Thus much will I bear, and no more? And, wilt thou dare to ſay, that if the Trial be augmented, and continued, thou wilt ſooner die than bear it?
This Act of Deſpondency, thought I, is a Sin, that, if I purſue it, admits of no Repentance, and can therefore claim no Forgiveneſs.—And wilt thou, for ſhortening thy tranſitory Griefs, heavy as they are, and weak as thou fancieſt thyſelf, plunge both Body and Soul into everlaſting Miſery! Hitherto, Pamela, thought I, thou art the innocent, the ſuffering Pamela; and wilt thou be the guilty Aggreſſor? and, becauſe wicked Men perſecute thee, wilt thou fly in the Face of the Almighty, and bid Defiance to his Grace [231] and Goodneſs, who can ſtill turn all theſe Sufferings to Benefits? And how do I know, but that God who ſees all the lurking Vileneſs of my Heart, may have permitted theſe Sufferings on that very Score, and to make me rely ſolely on his Grace and Aſſiſtance, who perhaps have too much prided myſelf in a vain Dependance on my own fooliſh Contrivances?
Then again, thought I, wilt thou ſuffer in one Moment all the good Leſſons of thy poor honeſt Parents, and the Benefit of their Example, (who have perſiſted in doing their Duty with Reſignation to the Divine Will, amidſt the extremeſt Degrees of Diſappointment, Poverty, and Diſtreſs, and the Perſecutions of an ingrateful World, and mer⯑cileſs Creditors) to be thrown away upon thee; and bring down, as in all Probability this thy Raſh⯑neſs will, their grey Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave, when they ſhall underſtand that their beloved Daugh⯑ter, ſlighting the Tenders of Divine Grace, de⯑ſponding in the Mercies of a gracious God, has blemiſh'd, in this laſt Act, a whole Life, which they had hitherto approv'd and delighted in?
What then, preſumptuous Pamela, doſt thou here, thought I? Quit with Speed theſe guilty Banks, and flee from theſe daſhing Waters, that even in their ſounding Murmurs, this ſtill Night, reproach thy Raſhneſs! Tempt not God's Good⯑neſs on the moſſy Banks, that have been Witneſſes of thy guilty Intentions; and while thou haſt Power left thee, avoid the tempting Evil, leſt thy grand Enemy, now repuls'd by Divine Grace, and due Reflection, return to the Charge with a Force that thy Weakneſs may not be able to reſiſt! And leſt one raſh Moment deſtroy all the Convictions, which now have aw'd thy rebellious Mind into Duty and Reſignation to the Divine Will!
[232]And ſo ſaying, I aroſe; but was ſo ſtiff with my Hurts, ſo cold with the moiſt Dew of the Night, and the wet Banks on which I had ſat, as alſo the Damps ariſing from ſo large a Piece of Water, that with great Pain I got from the Banks of this Pond, which now I think of with Terror; and bending my limping Steps towards the Houſe, refug'd myſelf in the Corner of an Out-houſe, where Wood and Coals are laid up for Family Uſe, till I ſhould be found by my cruel Keepers, and conſign'd to a wretched Con⯑finement, and worſe Uſage than I had hitherto ex⯑perienc'd; and there behind a Pile of Fire-wood I crept, and lay down, as you may imagine, with a Mind juſt broken, and a Heart ſenſible to nothing but the extremeſt Woe and Dejection.
This, my dear Father and Mother, is the Iſſue of your poor Pamela's fruitleſs Enterprize; and who knows, if I had got out at the Back-door, whether I had been at all in better Caſe, moneyleſs, friend⯑leſs, as I am, and in a ſtrange Place!—But blame not your poor Daughter too much: Nay, if ever you ſee this miſerable Scribble, all bathed and blotted with my Tears, let your Pity get the better of your Blame! But I know it will.—And I muſt leave off for the preſent.—For, Oh! my Strength and my Will are at this time very far unequal to one another.—But yet, I will add, that tho' I ſhould have prais'd God for my Deliverance, had I been freed from my wicked Keepers, and my deſigning Maſter; yet I have more abundant Reaſon for Praiſe, that I have been deliver'd from a worſe Enemy, myſelf!
I will continue my ſad Relation.
It ſeems Mrs. Jewkes awaked not till Day-break, and not finding me in Bed, ſhe call'd me; and no [233] Anſwer being return'd, ſhe relates, that ſhe got out of Bed, and run to my Cloſet; and not finding me, ſearched under the Bed, and in another Cloſet, find⯑ing the Chamber-door as ſhe had left it, quite faſt, and the Key, as uſual, about her Wriſt. For if I could have got out at the Chamber-door, there were two or three Paſſages, and Doors to them all, double lock'd and barr'd, to go thro', into the great Gar⯑den; ſo that, to eſcape, there was no Way, but that of the Window; and that very Window, becauſe of the Summer-parlour under it; for the other Windows are a great way from the Ground.
She ſays ſhe was exceſſively frighted, and in⯑ſtantly rais'd the Swiſs, and the two Maids, who lay not far off; and finding every Door faſt, ſhe ſaid, I muſt be carry'd away as St. Peter was out of Pri⯑ſon, by ſome Angel. It is a Wonder ſhe had not a worſe Thought!
She ſays, ſhe wept and wrung her Hands, and took on ſadly, running about like a mad Woman, little thinking I could have got out of the Cloſet Window, between the Iron Bars; and indeed I don't know if I could do ſo again. But at laſt finding that Caſement open, they concluded it muſt be ſo; and ſo they ran out into the Garden, and found my Footſteps in the Mould of the Bed which I dropt down upon from the Leads: And ſo ſpeeded away, all of them, that is to ſay, Mrs. Jewkes, Colbrand and Nan, towards the Back-door, to ſee if that was faſt, while the Cook was ſent to the Out-offices to raiſe the Men, and make them get Horſes ready, to take each a ſeveral Way to purſue me.
But it ſeems, finding that Door double-lock'd and padlock'd, and the Heel of my Shoe, and the broken Bricks, they verily concluded I was got away by ſome Means, over the Wall; and then, they ſay, Mrs. Jewkes ſeem'd like a diſtracted Woman: [234] Till at laſt, Nan had the Thought to go towards the Pond, and there ſeeing my Coat, and Cap and Hand⯑kerchief in the Water, caſt almoſt to the Banks by the daſhing of the Waves, ſhe thought it was me, and ſcreaming out, run to Mrs. Jewkes, and ſaid, O Madam, Madam! here's a piteous Thing!— Mrs. Pamela lies drown'd in the Pond!—Thither they all ran! and finding my Cloaths, doubted not I was at the Bottom; and they all, Swiſs among the reſt, beat their Breaſts, and made moſt diſmal La⯑mentations; and Mrs. Jewkes ſent Nan to the Men, to bid them get the Drag-net ready, and leave the Horſes, and come to try to find the poor Innocent as ſhe, it ſeems, then call'd me, beating her Breaſt, and lamenting my hard Hap; but moſt what would become of them, and what Account they ſhould give to my Maſter.
While every one was thus differently employ'd, ſome weeping and wailing, ſome running here and there, Nan came into the Wood-houſe; and there lay poor I; ſo weak, ſo low, and dejected, and withal ſo ſtiff with my Bruiſes, that I could not ſtir nor help myſelf to get upon my Feet. And I ſaid, with a low Voice, (for I could hardly ſpeak) Mrs. Ann, Mrs. Ann! —The Creature was ſadly frighted, but was taking up a Billet to knock me on the Head, believing I was ſome Thief, as ſhe ſaid; but I cry'd out, O Mrs. Ann, Mrs. Ann, help me, for Pity's ſake, to Mrs. Jewkes! for I cannot get up!—Bleſs me, ſaid ſhe, what! you, Madam!—Why our Hearts are almoſt broke, and we were going to drag the Pond for you, believing you had drown'd yourſelf. Now, ſaid ſhe, you'll make us all alive again!
And without helping me, ſhe run away to the Pond, and brought all the Crew to the Wood-houſe. —The wicked Woman, as ſhe entered, ſaid, Where is ſhe? — Plague of her Spells, and her Witch⯑crafts! [235] She ſhall dearly repent of this Trick, if my Name be Jewkes; and coming to me, took hold of my Arm, ſo roughly, and gave me ſuch a Pull, as made me ſqueal out, (my Shoulder being bruis'd on that Side) and drew me on my Face. O cruel Crea⯑ture! ſaid I, if you knew what I have ſuffer'd, it would move you to pity me!
Even Colbrand ſeem'd to be concern'd, and ſaid, Fie, Madam, fie! you ſee ſhe is almoſt dead! You muſt not be ſo rough with her. The Coachman Robin ſeem'd to be ſorry for me too, and ſaid, with Sobs, What a Scene is here! Don't you ſee ſhe is all bloody in her Head, and cannot ſtir?— Curſe of her Contrivances! ſaid the horrid Creature; ſhe has frighted me out of my Wits, I'm ſure. How the D—I came you here?—O! ſaid I, ask me now no Queſtions, but let the Maids carry me up to my Priſon; and there let me die decently, and in Peace! For indeed I thought I could not live two Hours.
The ſtill more inhuman Tygreſs ſaid, I ſuppoſe you want Mr. Williams to pray by you, don't you? Well, I'll ſend for my Maſter this Minute; let him come and watch you himſelf, for me; for there's no ſuch thing as holding you, I'm ſure.
So the Maids took me up between them, and car⯑ry'd me to my Chamber; and when the Wretch ſaw how bad I was, ſhe began a little to relent—while every one wonder'd (at what I had neither Strength nor Inclination to tell them) how all this came to paſs which they imputed to Sorcery and Witchcraft.
I was ſo weak, when I had got up Stairs, that I fainted away, with Dejection, Pain and Fatigue; and they undreſs'd me, and got me to Bed, and Mrs. Jewkes order'd Nan to bathe my Shoulder, and Arm, and Ancle, with ſome old Rum warm'd; and they cut the Hair a little from the back Part of my Head, and waſh'd that; for it was clotted with Blood, from [236] a pretty long, but not deep Gaſh; and put a Family Plaiſter upon it; for if this Woman has any good Quality, it is, it ſeems, in a Readineſs and Skill to manage in Caſes, where ſudden Misfortunes happen in a Family.
After this, I fell into a pretty ſound and refreſh⯑ing Sleep, and lay till Twelve o'Clock, tolerably eaſy, conſidering I was very feveriſh and aguiſhly in⯑clin'd; and ſhe took a deal of Care to fit me to undergo more Trials, which I had hop'd would have been more happily ended: But Providence did not ſee fit.
She would make me riſe about Twelve; but I was ſo weak, I could only fit up till the Bed was made, and went into it again; and was, as they ſaid, delirious ſome Part of the Afternoon. But having a tolerable Night on Thurſday I was a good deal better on Friday, and on Saturday got up, and eat a little Spoon-meat, and my Feveriſhneſs ſeem'd to be gone, and I was ſo mended by Evening, that I begg'd her Indulgence in my Cloſet, to be left to myſelf; which ſhe conſented to, it being double-barr'd the Day before, and I aſſuring her that all my Contrivances, as ſhe call'd them, were at an End. But firſt ſhe made me tell her the whole Story of my Enterprize; which I did very faithfully, knowing now that no⯑thing could ſtand me in any ſtead, or contribute to my Safety and Eſcape: And ſhe ſeem'd full of Wonder at my Reſolution and Ventureſomeneſs, but told me frankly, that I ſhould have found a hard Matter to get quite off; for, that ſhe was provided with a War⯑rant from my Maſter, (who is a Juſtice of Peace in this County, as well as the other) to get me appre⯑hended, if I had got away, on Suſpicion of wrong⯑ing him, let me have been where I would.
O how deep-laid are the Miſchiefs deſigned to fall on my devoted Head!—Surely, ſurely, I cannot be [237] worthy of all this Contrivance!—This too well ſhews me the Truth of what was hinted to me formerly at the other Houſe, that my Maſter ſwore he would have me! O preſerve me, Heaven! from being his, in his own wicked Senſe of the Adjuration!
I muſt add, that now this Woman ſees me pick up ſo faſt, ſhe uſes me worſe, and has abridg'd me of Paper all but one Sheet, which I am to ſhew her written or unwritten on Demand, and has reduc'd me to one Pen; yet my hidden Stores ſtand me in ſtead. But ſhe is more and more ſnappiſh and croſs; and tauntingly calls me Mrs. Williams, and any thing that ſhe thinks will vex me.
SUNDAY Afternoon.
MRS. Jewkes has thought fit to give me an Airing, for three or four Hours this Afternoon, and I am a good deal better; and ſhould be much more ſo, if I knew for what I am reſerv'd. But Health is a Bleſſing hardly to be coveted in my Circumſtances, ſince that fits me for the Calamity I am in continual Apprehenſions of; whereas a weak and ſickly State might poſſibly move Com⯑paſſion for me. O how I dread the coming of this angry and incenſed Maſter; tho' I am ſure I have done him no Harm!
Juſt now we heard, that he had like to have been drown'd in croſſing a Stream, a few Days ago, in purſuing his Game. What is the Matter, with all his ill Uſage of me, that I cannot hate him? To be ſure, I am not like other People! He has certain⯑ly done enough to make me hate him; but yet when I heard his Danger, which was very great, I could not in my Heart forbear rejoicing for his Safety; tho' his Death would have ended my Afflictions. Ungenerous Maſter! if you knew this, you ſurely would not be ſo much my Perſecutor! But for my [238] late good Lady's ſake, I muſt wiſh him well; and O what an Angel would he be in my Eyes yet, if he would ceaſe his Attempts, and reform.
Well, I hear by Mrs. Jewkes, that John Arnold is turn'd away, being detected in writing to Mr. Wil⯑liams; and that Mr. Longman, and Mr. Jonathan the Butler, have incurr'd his Diſpleaſure, for offering to ſpeak in my Behalf. Mrs. Jervis too is in Dan⯑ger; for all theſe three, belike, went together to beg in my Favour; for now it is known where I am.
Mrs. Jewkes has, with the News about my Maſter, receiv'd a Letter; but ſhe ſays the Contents are too bad for me to know. They muſt be bad indeed, if they be worſe than what I have already known.
Juſt now the horrid Creature tells me, as a Secret, that ſhe has reaſon to think he has found out a Way to ſatisfy my Scruples: It is, by marrying me to this dreadful Colbrand, and buying me of him on the Wedding-day, for a Sum of Money!—Was ever the like heard?—She ſays it will be my Duty to obey my Husband; and that Mr. Williams will be forc'd, as a Puniſhment, to marry us; and that when my Maſter has paid for me, and I am ſurrender'd up, the Swiſs is to go home again, with the Money, to his former Wife and Children; for ſhe ſays, it is the Cuſtom of thoſe People to have a Wife in every Nation.
But this, to be ſure, is horrid romancing! But abo⯑minable as it is, it may poſſibly ſerve to introduce ſome Plot now hatching!—With what ſtrange Per⯑plexities is my poor Mind agitated! Perchance, ſome Sham-marriage may be deſign'd, on purpoſe to ruin me: But can a Huſband ſell his Wife, againſt her own Conſent? — And will ſuch a Bargain ſtand good in Law?
MONDAY, TUESDAY, WEDNESDAY, the 32d, 33d, and 34th Days of my Impriſonment.
[239]NOTHING offers theſe Days but Squabblings between Mrs. Jewkes and me. She grows worſe and worſe to me. I vexed her Yeſterday, be⯑cauſe ſhe talked naſtily, and told her ſhe talk'd more like a vile London Proſtitute, than a Gentleman's Houſekeeper; and ſhe cannot uſe me bad enough for it. Bleſs me! ſhe curſes and ſtorms at me like a Trooper, and can hardly keep her Hands off me. You may believe ſhe muſt talk ſadly to make me ſay ſuch harſh Words: Indeed it cannot be repeated; and ſhe is a Diſgrace to her Sex. And then ſhe ri⯑dicules me, and laughs at my Notions of Honeſty; and tells me, impudent Creature that ſhe is! what a fine Bedfellow I ſhall make for my Maſter, (and ſuch-like) with ſuch whimſical Notions about me!— Do you think this is to be borne? And yet ſhe talks worſe than this, if poſſible!—Quite filthily! O what vile Hands am I put into!
THURSDAY.
I Have now all the Reaſon that can be, to ap⯑prehend my Maſter will be here ſoon; for the Servants are buſy in ſetting the Houſe to rights; and a Stable and Coach-houſe are cleaning out, that have not been uſed ſome time. I ask Mrs. Jewkes, but ſhe tells me nothing, nor will hardly anſwer me when I aſk her a Queſtion. Sometimes I think ſhe puts on theſe ſtrange wicked Airs to me, purpoſely to make me wiſh for, what I dread moſt of all Things, my Maſter's coming down. He talk of Love!—If he had any the leaſt Notion of Regard for me, to be ſure he would not give this naughty [240] Body ſuch Power over me:—And if he does come where is his Promiſe of not ſeeing me without I conſent to it? But it ſeems His Honour owes me nothing! So he tells me in his Letter. And-why? Becauſe I am willing to keep mine. But, indeed, he ſays, he hates me perfectly; and it is plain he does, or I ſhould not be left to the Mercy of this Woman; and, what is worſe, to my woful Appre⯑henſions.
FRIDAY, the 36th Day of my Impriſonment.
I Took the Liberty yeſterday Afternoon, finding the Gates open, to walk out before the Houſe; and ere I was aware, had got to the Bottom of the long Row of Elms; and there I ſat myſelf down upon the Steps of a ſort of broad Stile, which leads into the Road, that goes towards the Town. And as I ſat muſing about what always buſies my Mind, I ſaw a whole Body of Folks, running towards me from the Houſe, Men and Women, as in a Fright. At firſt I wonder'd what was the Matter, till they came nearer; and I found they were all alarm'd, thinking I had attempted to get off. There was firſt the horrible Colbrand, running with his long Legs, well nigh two Yards at a Stride; then there was one of the Grooms, poor Mr. Williams's Robber; then I ſpy'd Nan, half out of Breath; and the Cook-maid after her; and laſtly, came waddling, as faſt as ſhe could, Mrs. Jewkes, exclaiming moſt bitterly, as I found, againſt me. Colbrand ſaid, O how have you frighted us all!—And went behind me, leſt I ſhould run away, as I ſuppoſe.
I ſat ſtill, to let them ſee I had no View to get away; for, beſides the Improbability of ſucceeding, my laſt ſad Attempt had cur'd me of enterprizing again. And when Mrs. Jewkes came within hearing, [241] I found her terribly incens'd, and raving about my Contrivances. Why ſaid I, ſhould you be ſo con⯑cerned? Here I have ſat a few Minutes, and had not the leaſt Thought of getting away, or going further; but to return as ſoon as it was duſkiſh. She would not believe me; and the barbarous Creature ſtruck at me with her horrid Fiſt, and, I believe, would have felled me, had not Colbrand interpoſed, and ſaid, He ſaw me ſitting ſtill, looking about me, and not ſeem⯑ing to have the leaſt Inclination to ſtir. But this would not ſerve: She order'd the two Maids to take me each by an Arm, and lead me back into the Houſe, and up Stairs; and there have I been lock'd up ever ſince, without Shoes. In vain have I pleaded that I had no Deſign, as indeed I had not the leaſt; and, laſt Night I was forced to lie between her and Nan; and I find ſhe is reſolved to make a Handle of this againſt me, and in her own Behalf—In⯑deed, what with her Uſage, and my own Appre⯑henſions of ſtill worſe, I am quite weary of my Life.
Juſt now ſhe has been with me, and given me my Shoes, and has laid her imperious Commands upon me, to dreſs myſelf in a Suit of Cloaths out of the Portmanteau, which I have not ſeen lately, againſt three or four o'Clock; for, ſhe ſays, ſhe is to have a Viſit from Lady Darnford's two Daughters, who came purpoſely to ſee me; and ſo ſhe gave me the Key of the Portmanteau. But I will not obey her; and I told her I would not be made a Shew of, nor ſee the Ladies. She left me, ſaying, It ſhould be worſe for me, if I did not. But how can that be?
Five o' Clock is come.
[242]AND no young Ladies!—So that I fanſy— But, hold, I hear their Coach, I believe. I'll ſtep to the Window.—I won't go down to them, I am reſolv'd.—
Good Sirs! good Sirs! What will become of me! Here is my Maſter come in his fine Chariot!—In⯑deed he is! What ſhall I do? Where ſhall I hide myſelf!—Oh! what ſhall I do!—Pray for me! But Oh! you'll not ſee this!—Now, good God of Hea⯑ven, preſerve me! if it be thy bleſſed Will!
Seven o'Clock.
THO' I dread to ſee him, yet do I wonder I have not. To be ſure ſomething is reſolving againſt me, and he ſtays to hear all her Stories. I can hardly write; yet, as I can do nothing elſe, I know not how to forbear!—Yet I cannot hold my Pen!— How crooked and trembling the Lines!—I muſt leave off, till I can get quieter Fingers!—Why ſhould the Guiltleſs tremble ſo, when the Guilty can poſ⯑ſeſs their Minds in Peace!
SATURDAY Morning.
NOW let me give you an Account of what paſſed laſt Night; for I had no Power to write, nor yet Opportunity, till now.
This vile Woman held my Maſter till half an Hour after Seven; and he came hither about Five in the Afternoon. And then I heard his Voice on the Stairs, as he was coming up to me. It was about his Supper; for he ſaid, I ſhall chuſe a boil'd Chicken, with Butter and Parſley.—And up he came!
[243]He put on a ſtern and majeſtick Air; and he can look very majeſtick when he pleaſes. Well, perverſe Pamela, ungrateful Runaway, ſaid he, for my firſt Salutation!—You do well, don't you, to give me all this Trouble and Vexation? I could not ſpeak; but throwing my ſelf on the Floor, hid my Face, and was ready to die with Grief and Apprehenſion.— He ſaid, Well may you hide your Face! well may you be aſhamed to ſee me, vile forward one, as you are!—I ſobb'd, and wept, but could not ſpeak. And he let me lie, and went to the Door, and called Mrs. Jewkes.—There, ſaid he, take up that fallen Angel!—Once I thought her as innocent as an Angel of Light. But I have now no Patience with her. The lit⯑tle Hypocrite proſtrates her ſelf thus, in hopes to move my Weakneſs in her Favour, and that I'll raiſe her from the Floor myſelf. But I ſhall not touch her: No, ſaid he, cruel Gentleman as he was! let ſuch Fellows as Williams be taken in by her artful Wiles, I know her now, and ſee ſhe is for any Fool's Turn, that will be caught by her.
I ſighed, as if my Heart would break!—And Mrs. Jewkes lifted me up upon my Knees: for I trembled ſo, I could not ſtand. Come, ſaid ſhe, Mrs. Pamela, learn to know your beſt Friend; con⯑feſs, your unworthy Behaviour, and beg his Honour's Forgiveneſs of all Your Faults. I was ready to ſaint; and he ſaid, She is Miſtreſs of Arts, I'll aſſure you; and will mimick a Fit, ten to one, in a Minute.
I was ſtruck to the Heart at this; but could not ſpeak preſently; only lifted up my Eyes to Heaven! —And at laſt made ſhift to ſay—God forgive you, Sir!—He ſeem'd in a great Paſſion, and walked up and down the Room, caſting ſometimes an Eye upon me, and ſeem [...]ng as if he would have ſpoken, but check'd himſelf And at laſt he ſaid, When ſhe has acted this her firſt Part over, perhaps I will ſee [244] her again, and ſhe ſhall ſoon know what ſhe has to truſt to.
And ſo he went out of the Room: And I was quite ſick at Heart!—Surely, ſaid I, I am the wicked⯑eſt Creature that ever breath'd! Well, ſaid the Im⯑pertinent, not ſo wicked as that neither; but I am glad you begin to ſee your Faults. Nothing like be⯑ing humble!—Come I'll ſtand your Friend, and plead for you, if you'll promiſe to be more dutiful for the future: Come, come, added the Wretch, this may be all made up by to-morrow Morning, if you are not a Fool.—Begone, hideous Woman! ſaid I; and let not my Afflictions be added to by thy inexorable Cruelty, and unwomanly Wickedneſs.
She gave me a Puſh, and went away in a violent Paſſion. And it ſeems, ſhe made a Story of this; and ſaid, I had ſuch a Spirit, there was no hearing it.
I laid me down on the Floor, and had no Power to ſtir, till the Clock ſtruck Nine; and then the wicked Woman came up again. You muſt come down Stairs, ſaid ſhe, to my Maſter; that is, if you pleaſe, Spirit!—Said I, I believe I cannot ſtand. Then, ſaid, ſhe, I'll ſend Monſieur Colbrand to carry you down.
I got up, as well as I could, and trembled all the way down Stairs. And ſhe went before me into the Parlour; and a new Servant, that he had waiting on him inſtead of John, withdrew as ſoon as I came in. And, by the way, he had a new Coachman too, which looked as if Bedfordſhire Robin was turn'd away.
I thought, ſaid he, when I came down, you ſhould have ſat at Table with we, when I had not Company; but when I find you cannot forget you Original, but muſt prefer my Menials to me, I call you down to wait on me, while I ſup, that I may have ſome Talk with you, and throw away as little Time as poſſible upon you.
[245]Sir, ſaid I, you do me Honour to wait upon you. —And I never ſhall, I hope, forget my Original. But I was forced to ſtand behind his Chair, that I might hold by it. Fill me, ſaid he, a Glaſs of that Burgundy. I went to do it; but my Hand ſhook ſo, that I could not hold the Plate with the Glaſs in it, and ſpilt ſome of the Wine. So Mrs. Jewkes pour'd it for me, and I carry'd it as well as I could; and made a low Court'ſy. He took it, and ſaid, Stand behind me, out of my Sight!
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid he, you tell me, ſhe re⯑mains very ſullen ſtill, and eats nothing. No, ſaid ſhe, not ſo much as will keep Life and Soul toge⯑ther.—And is always crying, you ſay, too? Yes, Sir, anſwer'd ſhe, I think ſhe is, for one thing or another. Ay, ſaid he, your young Wenches will feed upon their Tears; and their Obſtinacy will ſerve them for Meat and Drink. I think I never ſaw her look better, tho, in my Life! — But I ſup⯑poſe ſhe lives upon Love. This ſweet Mr. Williams, and her little villanous Plots together, have kept her alive and well, to be ſure. For Miſchief, Love, and Contradiction, are the natural Ailments of a Woman.
Poor I was forced to hear all this, and be ſilent; and indeed my Heart was too full to ſpeak.
And ſo you ſay, ſaid he, that ſhe had another Project, but Yeſterday, to get away? She denies it herſelf, ſaid ſhe; but it had all the Appearance of one. I'm ſure ſhe made me in a fearful Pucker a⯑bout it. And I am glad your Honour is come, with all my Heart; and I hope, whatever be your Ho⯑nour's Intention concerning her, you will not be long about it; for you'll find her as ſlippery as an Eel, I'll aſſure you!
Sir, ſaid I, and clapſed his Knees with my Arms, not knowing what I did, and falling on my Knees, [246] Have Mercy on me, and hear me, concerning that wicked Woman's Uſage of me.—
He cruelly interrupted me, and ſaid, I am ſatisfy'd ſhe has done her Duty: It ſignifies nothing what you ſay againſt Mrs. Jewkes. That you are here, little Hypocrite as you are, pleading your Cauſe be⯑fore me, is owing to her Care of you; elſe you had been with the Parſon—Wicked Girl! ſaid he, to tempt a Man to undo himſelf, as you have done him, at a Time when I was on the Point of making him happy for his Life!
I aroſe, but ſaid, with a deep Sigh, I have done, Sir,—I have done!—I have a ſtrange Tribunal to plead before. The poor Sheep, in the Fable, had ſuch an one; when it was try'd before the Vultur, on the Accuſation of the Wolf!
So, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid he, you are the Wolf, I the Vultur, and this the poor innocent Lamb, on her Trial before us—Oh! you don't know how well this Innocent is read in Reflection. She has Wit at Will, when ſhe has a mind to diſplay her own romantick Innocence, at the Price of other People's Characters.
Well, ſaid the aggravating Creature this is nothing to what ſhe has called me; I have been a Jezebel, a London Proſtitute, and what not?—But I am contented with her ill Names, now I ſee it is her Faſhion, and ſhe can call your Honour a Vultur.
Said I, I had no Thought of comparing my Ma⯑ſter—And was going to ſay on: But he ſaid, Don't prate, Girl!—No, ſaid ſhe, it don't become you, I am ſure.
Well, ſaid I, ſince I muſt not ſpeak, I will hold my Peace: But there is a righteous Judge, who knows the Secrets of all Hearts! and to Him I appeal.
See there! ſaid he: Now this meek, good Crea⯑ture is praying for Fire from Heaven upon us! O [246] ſhe can curſe moſt heartily, in the Spirit of Chri⯑ſtian Meekneſs, I'll aſſure you!—Come, Sawcy-face, give me another Glaſs of Wine!
So I did, as well as I could; but wept ſo, that he ſaid, I ſuppoſe I ſhall have ſome of your Tears in my Wine!
When he had ſupp'd, he ſtood up, and ſaid, O how happy for you it is, that you can at Will, thus make your ſpeaking Eyes overflow in this manner, without loſing any of their Brilliancy! You have been told, I ſuppoſe, that you are moſt beautiful in your Tears!—Did you ever, ſaid he to her, (who all thi [...] while was ſtanding in one Corner of the Parl [...]ur) ſee a more charming Creature than this? Is it to be wonder'd at, that I demean myſelf thus to take No⯑tice of her!—See, ſaid he, and took the Glaſs with one Hand, and turn'd me round with the other, What a Shape! what a Neck! what a Hand! and what a Bloom in that lovely Face!—But who can deſcribe the Tricks and Artifices, that lie lurk⯑ing in her little, plotting, guileful Heart! 'Tis no Wonder the poor Parſon was infatuated with her— I blame him leſs than I do her; for who could ex⯑pect ſuch Artifice in ſo young a Sorcereſs!
I went to the further part of the Room, and held my Face againſt the Wainſcot; and, in ſpite of all I could do to refrain crying, ſobb'd, as if my Heart would break. He ſaid, I am ſurpriz'd, Mrs. Jewkes, at the Miſtake of the Letters you tell me of! But, you ſee, I am not afraid any body ſhould read what I write. I don't carry on private Correſpondencies, and reveal every Secret that comes to my Know⯑ledge, and then corrupt People to carry my Letters, againſt their Duty, and all good Conſcience.
Come hither, Huſſy, ſaid he; you and I have a dreadful Reckoning to make.—Why don't you come, when I bid you?—Fie upon it! Mrs. Pamela, [247] ſaid ſhe, what! not ſtir, when his Honour command▪ you to come to him!—Who knows but his Good⯑neſs will forgive you?
He came to me, (for I had no power to ſtir) and put his Arms about my Neck, and would kiſs me; and ſaid, Well, Mrs. Jewkes, if it were not for the Thought of this curſed Parſon, I believe in my Heart, ſo great is my Weakneſs, that I could yet forgive this intriguing little Slut, and take her to my Bo⯑ſom.
O, ſaid the Sycophant, yen are very good, Sir, very forgiving, indeed!—But come, added the pro⯑fligate Wretch, I hope you will be ſo good, as to take her to your Boſom; and that, by to-morrow Morning, you'll bring her to a better Senſe of her Duty!
Could any thing, in Womanhood, be ſo vile! I had no Patience: But yet Grief and Indignation choaked up the Paſſage of my Words; and I could only ſtammer out a paſſionate Exclamation to Hea⯑ven, to protect my Innocence. But the Word was the Subject of their Ridicule. Was ever poor Crea⯑ture worſe beſet!
He ſaid, as if he had been conſidering whether he could forgive me or not, No, I cannot yet for⯑give her neither—She has given me great Diſturb⯑ance; has brought great diſcredit upon me, both abroad and at home; has corrupted all my Servants at the other Houſe; has deſpiſed my honourable Views and Intentions to her, and ſought to run away with this ingrateful Parſon—And ſurely I ought not to forgive all this!—Yet, with all this wretch⯑ed Grimace, he kiſſed me again, and would have put his Hand in my Boſom; but I ſtruggled, and ſaid, I would die before I would be uſed thus.— Conſider, Pamela, ſaid he, in a Threatening Tone, conſider where you are! and don't play the Fool: [249] If you do, a more dreadful Fate awaits you than you expect. But, take her up Stairs, Mrs. Jewkes, and I'll ſend a few Lines to her to conſider off; and let me have your Anſwer, Pamela, in the Morning. Till then you have to reſolve upon: And after that, your Doom is fix'd—So I went up Stairs, and gave myſelf up to Grief, and Expectation of what he would ſend: But yet I was glad of this Night's Re⯑prieve!
He ſent me, however, nothing at all. And about Twelve o'Clock, Mrs. Jewkes and Nan came up, as the Night before, to be my Bedfellows; and I would go to-bed with ſome of my Cloaths on; which they mutter'd at ſadly; and Mrs. Jewkes rail'd at me particularly: Indeed I would have ſat up all Night, for Fear, if ſhe would have let me. For I had but very little Reſt that Night, apprehending this Woman would let my Maſter in. She did nothing but praiſe him, and blame me; but I an⯑ſwer'd her as little as I could.
He has Sir Simon Tell-Tale, alias Darnford, to dine with him to-day, whoſe Family ſent to wel⯑come him into the Country; and it ſeems, the old Knight wants to ſee me; ſo I ſuppoſe I ſhall be ſent for, as Samſon was, to make Sport for him — Here I am, and muſt bear it all!
Twelve o'Clock Saturday Noon.
JUST now he has ſent me up, by Mrs. Jewkes, the following Propoſals. So here are the honour⯑able Intentions all at once laid open. They are, my dear Parents, to make me a vile kept Mi⯑ſtreſs: Which, I hope, I ſhall always deteſt the [250] Thoughts of. But you'll ſee how they are ac⯑commodated to what I ſhould have moſt deſir'd could I have honeſtly promoted it, your Welfare and Hap⯑pineſs. I have anſwer'd them, as I'm ſure, you'll approve; and I am prepared for the worſt: For tho' I fear there will be nothing omitted to ruin me, and tho' my poor Strength will not be able to defend me, yet I will be innocent of Crime in my Inten⯑tion, and in the Sight of God; and to Him leave the avenging of all my Wrongs, in his own good Time and Manner. I ſhall write to you my Anſwer againſt his Articles; and hope the beſt, tho' I fear the worſt. But if I ſhould come home to you ruin'd and un⯑done, and may not be able to look you in the Face; yet pity and in ſpirit the poor Pamela, to make her little Remnant of Life eaſy; for long I ſhall not ſur⯑vive my Diſgrace. And you may be aſſured it ſhall not be my Fault, if it be my Misfortune.
'To Mrs. PAMELA ANDREWS.
‘'The following ARTI⯑CLES are propoſed to your ſerious Conſi⯑deration; and let me have an Anſwer, in Writing, to them; that I may take my Reſolutions accord⯑ingly. Only remem⯑ber, that I will not be trifled with; and what you give for An⯑ſwer, will abſolutely decide your Fate, without Expoſtulation or further Trouble.’
This is my ANSWER.
[250]Forgive, good Sir, the Spi⯑rit your poor Servant is about to ſhew in her Anſwer to your AR⯑TICLES. Not to be warm, and in earneſt, on ſuch an Occaſion as the preſent, would ſhew a Degree of Guilt, that, I hope, my Soul abhors. I will not trifle with you, nor act like a Per⯑ſon doubtful of her own Mind; for it wants not one Moment's Conſider⯑ation with me; and I [251] therefore return the ANSWER following, let what will be the Conſequence.
‘'I. IF you can con⯑vince me, that the hated Parſon has had no Encouragement from you in his Addreſ⯑ſes; and that you have no Inclination for him, in Preference to me; then I will offer the following Propoſals to you, which I will pun⯑ctually make good.’
I. AS to the firſt Arti⯑cle, Sir, it may be⯑hove me, (that I may not deſerve in your Opinion, the opprobrious Terms of forward and artful, and ſuch-like) to declare ſo⯑lemnly, that Mr. Willi⯑ams never had the leaſt Encouragement from me, as to what you hint; and I believe his principal Motive was the appre⯑hended Duty of his Fun⯑ction, quite contrary to his apparent Intereſt, to aſſiſt a Perſon he thought in Diſtreſs. You may, Sir, the rather believe me, when I declare, that I know not the Man breath⯑ing I would wiſh to mar⯑ry; and that the only one I could honour more than another, is the Gen⯑tleman, who, of all others, ſeeks my everlaſting Diſ⯑honour.
‘'II. I will directly make you a Preſent of 500 Guineas, for your [252] own Uſe, which you may diſpoſe of to any Purpoſe you pleaſe: And will give it abſo⯑lutely into the Hands of any Perſon you ſhall appoint to receive it; and expect no Favour in Return, till you are ſatisfy'd in the Poſſeſ⯑ſion of it.’
II. As to your ſecond Propoſal, let the Conſe⯑quence be what it will, I [252] reject it with all my Soul. Money, Sir, is not my chief Good: May God Almighty deſert me, whenever it is; and when⯑ever, for the ſake of that, I can give up my Title to that bleſſed Hope which will ſtand me in ſtead, at a Time when Millions of Gold will not purchaſe one happy Mo⯑ment of Reflection on a paſt miſ-pent Life!
‘'III. I will likewiſe directly make over to you a Purchaſe I lately made in Kent, which brings in 250 l. per An⯑num, clear of all Deduc⯑tions. This ſhall be made over to you in full Property for your Life, and for the Lives of any Children, to Perpetuity, that you may happen to have: And your Fa⯑ther ſhall be immedi⯑ately put into Poſſeſſion of it in Truſt for theſe Purpoſes. And the Management of it will yield a comfortable Sub⯑ſiſtence to him and your Mother, for Life; and I will make up any De⯑ficiencies, [253] if ſuch ſhould happen, to that clear Sum, and allow him 50 l. per Annum beſides, for his Life, and that of your Mother, for his Care and Management of this your Eſtate.’
III. Your third Propo⯑ſal, Sir, I reject, for the ſame Reaſon; and am ſorry you could think my poor honeſt Parents would enter into their Part of it, and be con⯑cerned for the Manage⯑ment of an Eſtate, which would be owing to the Proſtitution of their poor Daughter. Forgive, Sir, my Warmth on this Oc⯑caſion; but you know not the poor Man, and the poor Woman, my ever dear Father and Mo⯑ther, if you think that they would not much ra⯑ther chuſe to ſtarve in a Ditch, or rot in a noi⯑ſome Dungeon, than ac⯑cept [253] of the Fortune of a Monarch, upon ſuch wicked Terms. I dare not ſay all that my full Mind ſuggeſts to me on this grievous Occaſion.— But indeed, Sir, you know them not; nor ſhall the Terrors of Death, in its moſt frightful Forms, I hope, thro' God's aſſiſt⯑ing Grace, ever make me act unworthy of ſuch poor honeſt Parents!
‘'IV. I will, moreover, extend my Favour to any other of your Re⯑lations, that you may think worthy of it, or that are valued by you.’
IV. Your fourth Pro⯑poſal, I take upon me, Sir, to anſwer as the third. If I have any Friends that want the Favour of the Great, may they ever want it, if they are ca⯑pable of deſiring it on unworthy Terms!
‘'V. I will, beſides, or⯑der Patterns to be ſent you for chuſing four complete Suits of rich Cloaths, that you may appear with Reputation, as if you was my Wife. And I will give you the two Diamond Rings, and two Pair of Ear⯑rings, and Diamond Necklace, that were [254] bought by my Mother, to preſent to Miſs Tom⯑lins, if the Match that was propoſed between her and me had been brought to Effect: And I will confer upon you ſtill other Gratuities, as I ſhall find myſelf ob⯑liged, by your good Behaviour and Affe⯑ction.’
V. Fine Cloaths, Sir, become not me; nor have I any Ambition to wear them. I have greater Pride in my Poverty and Meanneſs, than I ſhould have in Dreſs and Finery. Believe me, Sir, I think ſuch things leſs become the humble-born Pamela, than the Rags your good Mother raiſed me from. [254] Your Rings, Sir, your Necklace, and your Ear⯑rings, will better befit Ladies of Degree, than me: And to loſe the beſt Jewel, my Virtue, would be poorly recompenced by thoſe you propoſe to give me. What ſhould I think, when I looked upon my Finger, or ſaw, in the Glaſs, thoſe Dia⯑monds on my Neck, and in my Ears, but that they were the Price of my Honeſty; and that I wore thoſe Jewels outwardly, becauſe I had none in⯑wardly?
‘'VI. Now, Pamela, will you ſee by this, what a Value I ſet upon the Free-will of a Per⯑ſon already in my Pow⯑er; and who, if theſe Propoſals are not ac⯑cepted, ſhall find, that I have not taken all theſe Pains, and riſqued my Reputation, as I have done, without re⯑ſolving to gratify my Paſſion for you, at all Adventures, and if you refuſe, without making any Terms at all.’
VI. I know, Sir, by wo⯑ful Experience, that I am in your Power: I know all the Reſiſtance I can make will be poor and weak, and perhaps ſtand me in little ſtead: I dread your Will to ruin me is as great as your Power: Yet, Sir, will I dare to tell you, that I will make no Free-will Offering of my Virtue. All that I can do, poor as it is, I will do, to convince you, that your Offers ſhall have no Part in my Choice; and if I cannot [255] eſcape the Violence of Man, I hope, by God's Grace, I ſhall have no⯑thing to reproach myſelf, for not doing all in my Power to avoid my Diſ⯑grace; and then I can ſafe⯑ly appeal to the great God, my only Refuge and Pro⯑tector, with this Conſola⯑tion, That my Will bore no Part in my Violation.
‘'VII. You ſhall be Miſtreſs of my Perſon and Fortune, as much as if the fooliſh Cere⯑mony had paſſed. All my Servants ſhall be yours; and you ſhall chuſe any two Perſons to attend yourſelf, either Male or Female, with⯑out any Controul of mine; and if your Conduct be ſuch, that I have Reaſon to be ſa⯑tisfied with it, I know not (but will not en⯑gage for this) that I may, after a Twelvemonth's Cohabitation, marry you; for if my Love increaſes for you, as it has done for many Months paſt, it will be [236] impoſſible for me to deny you any thing.’
‘'And now, Pamela, con⯑ſider well, it is in your Power to ob⯑lige me on ſuch Terms, as will make yourſelf, and all your Friends, happy: But this will be over this very Day, irrevo⯑cably over; and you ſhall find all you would be thought to fear, without the leaſt Benefit ariſing from it to yourſelf.’
‘'And I beg you'll well weigh the Mat⯑ter, and comply with my Propoſals; and I will inſtantly ſet about ſecuring to you the full Effect of them: And let me, if you value yourſelf, experience a grateful Return on this Occaſion; and I'll forgive all that's paſt.'’
VII. I have not once dared to look ſo high, as to ſuch a Propoſal as your ſeventh Article contains. Hence have proceeded all my little, abortive Arti⯑fices to eſcape from the Conſinement you have put me in; altho' you promiſed to be honour⯑able to me. Your Ho⯑nour, well I knew, would nor let you ſtoop to ſo mean and ſo unworthy a Slave, as the poor Pa⯑mela: All I deſire is, to be permitted to return to my native Meanneſs un⯑violated. What have I done, Sir, to deſerve it ſhould be otherwiſe? For the obtaining of this, tho' I would not have [256] marry'd your Chaplain, yet would I have run away with your meaneſt Servant, if I had thought I could have got ſafe to my beloved Poverty. I heard you once ſay, Sir, That a certain great Commander, who could live upon Lentils, might well refuſe the Bribes of the greateſt Monarch: and, I hope, as I can con⯑tentedly live at the mean⯑eſt Rate, and think not myſelf above the loweſt Condition, that I am alſo above making an Ex⯑change of my Honeſty for all the Riches of the Indies. When I come to be proud and vain of gaudy Apparel, and out⯑ſide Finery; then, (which, I hope, will never be) may I reſt my principal Good in ſuch vain Trin⯑kets, and deſpiſe for them the more ſolid Ornaments of a good Fame, and a Chaſtity inviolate!
Give me leave to ſay Sir, in Anſwer to what you hint, That you may, in a Twelvemonth's Time, marry me, on the Continuance of my good Beha⯑viour; that this weighs leſs with me, if poſſible, [257] than any thing elſe you have ſaid. For, in the firſt Place, there is an End of all Merit, and all good Behaviour, on my Side, if I have now any, the Mo⯑ment I conſent to your Propoſals. And I ſhould be ſo far from expecting ſuch an Honour, that I will pronounce, that I ſhould be moſt unworthy of it. What, Sir, would the World ſay, were you to marry your Harlot? — That a Gentleman of your Rank in Life, ſhould ſtoop, not only to the baſe-born Pamela, but to a baſe-born Proſtitute? — Little, Sir, as I know of the World, I am not to be caught by a Bait ſo poorly cover'd as this!
Yet, after all, dreadful is the Thought, that I, a poor, weak, friendleſs, unhappy Creature, am too fully in your Power! But permit me, Sir, to pray, as I now write, on my bended Knees, That before you reſolve upon my Ruin, you will weigh well the Matter. Hitherto, Sir, tho' you have taken large Strides to this crying Sin, yet are you on this Side the Commiſſion of it—When once it is done, no⯑thing can recal it! And where will be your Tri⯑umph?—What Glory will the Spoils of ſuch a weak Enemy yield you? Let me but enjoy my Po⯑verty with Honeſty, is all my Prayer; and I will bleſs you, and pray for you every Moment of my Life! Think; O think! before it is yet too late! what Stings, what Remorſe will attend your dying Hour, when you come to reflect, that you have ruin'd, perhaps Soul and Body, a wretched Crea⯑ture, whoſe only Pride was her Virtue! And how pleas'd you will be, on the contrary, if in that tre⯑mendous Moment you ſhall be able to acquit your⯑ſelf of this ſoul Crime, and to plead in your own Behalf, that you ſuffer'd the earneſt Supplications of an unhappy Wretch to prevail with you to be inno⯑cent your ſelf, and let her remain ſo!—May God Almighty, whoſe Mercy ſo lately ſav'd you from [258] the Peril of periſhing in deep Waters, (on which, I hope, you will give me Cauſe to congratulate you!) touch your Heart in my Favour, and ſave you from this Sin, and me from this Ruin!—And to Him do I commit my Cauſe; and to Him will I give the Glory, and Night and Day pray for you, if I may be permitted to eſcape this great Evil!— From
I took a Copy of this for your Peruſal, my dear Parents, if I ſhall ever be ſo happy to ſee you again, (for I hope my Conduct will be approved of by you); and at Night, when Sir Simon was gone, he ſent for me down. Well, ſaid he, have you conſidered my Propoſals? Yes, Sir, ſaid I, I have. And there is my Anſwer. But pray let me not ſee you read it. Is it your Baſhfulneſs, ſaid he, or your Obſtinacy, that makes you not chuſe I ſhould read it before you?
I offer'd to go away; and he ſaid, Don't run from me: I won't read it till you are gone. But, ſaid he, tell me Pamela, whether you comply with my Pro⯑poſals, or not? Sir, ſaid I, you will ſee preſent⯑ly; pray don't hold me; for he took my Hand. Said he, Did you well conſider before you an⯑ſwer'd?—I did Sir, ſaid I. If it be not what you think will pleaſe me, ſaid he, dear Girl, take it back again, and reconſider it; for if I have this as your abſolute Anſwer, And I don't like it, you are undone; for I will not ſue meanly, where I can command. I fear, ſaid he, it is not what I like, by your Manner. And, let me tell you, That I cannot bear Denial. If the Terms I have offer'd are not ſufficient, I will augment them to two Thirds of [259] my Eſtate; for, ſaid he, and ſwore a dreadful Oath, I cannot live without you: And ſince the thing is gone ſo far, I will not! — And ſo he claſped me in his Arms, in ſuch a manner as quite frighted me; and kiſſed me two or three times.
I got from him, and run up Stairs, and went to the Cloſet, and was quite uneaſy and fearful.
In an Hour's time, he called Mr. Jewkes down to him; and I heard him very high in Paſſion: And all about poor me! And I heard her ſay, it was his own Fault; there would be an End of all my Com⯑plaining and Perverſeneſs, if he was once reſolved; and other moſt impudent Aggravations. I am re⯑ſolved not to go to bed this Night, if I can help it—Lie ſtill, lie ſtill, my poor fluttering Heart!— what will become of me!
Almoſt Twelve o'Clock SATURDAY Night.
HE ſent Mrs. Jewkes, about Ten o'Clock, to tell me to come to him. Where? ſaid I. I'll ſhew you ſaid ſhe. I went down three or four Steps, and ſaw her making to his Chamber, the Door of which was open: So I ſaid, I cannot go there!— Don't be fooliſh, ſaid ſhe; but come; no Harm will be done to you!—Well, ſaid I, if I die, I cannot go there. I heard him ſay, Let her come, or it ſhall be worſe for her. I can't bear, ſaid he, to ſpeak to her myſelf! —Well, ſaid I, I cannot come, indeed I cannot, and ſo I went up again into my Cloſet, expecting to be fetch'd by Force.
But ſhe came up ſoon after, and bid me make haſte to-bed: Said I, I will not go to-bed this Night, that's certain!—Then, ſaid ſhe, you ſhall be made to come to-bed; and Nan and I will undreſs you. I knew neither Prayers nor Tears would move this [260] wicked Woman: So, I ſaid, I am ſure you will let my Maſter in, and I ſhall be undone! Mighty Piece of Undone, ſhe ſaid! But he was too exaſperated againſt me, to be ſo familiar with me, ſhe would aſſure me—Ay, ſaid ſhe, you'll be diſpoſed of ano⯑ther way ſoon, I can tell you for your Comfort; And I hope your Husband will have your Obedience, tho' nobody elſe can have it. No Husband in the World, ſaid I, ſhall make me do an unjuſt or baſe thing.—She ſaid, That would be ſoon try'd; and Nan coming in, What, ſaid I, am I to have two Bedfellows again, theſe warm Nights? Yes, ſaid ſhe, Slippery-ones, you are, till you can have one good one inſtead of us. Said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don't talk naſtily to me. I ſee you are beginning again; and I ſhall affront you, may-be; for next to bad Action, are bad Words; for they could not be ſpoken, if they were not in the Heart — Come to bed. Pu⯑rity! ſaid ſhe. You are a Nonſuch, I ſuppoſe. In⯑deed, ſaid I, I can't come to bed; and it will do you no harm to let me ſit all Night in the great Chair. Nan, ſaid ſhe, undreſs my young Lady. If ſhe won't let you, I'll help you: And if neither of us can do it quietly, we'll call my Maſter to do it for us; tho, ſaid ſhe, I think it an Office worthier of Monſieur Colebrand!—You are very wicked, ſaid I. I know it, ſaid ſhe: I am a Jezebel, and a Lon⯑don Proſtitute, you know. You did great Feats, ſaid I, to tell my Maſter all this poor Stuff! But you did not tell him how you beat me: No, Lamb⯑kin, ſaid ſhe, (a Word I had not heard a good while) that I left for you to tell; and you was going to do it, if the Vultur had not taken the Wolf's Part, and bid the poor innocent Lamb be ſilent! — Ay, ſaid I, no matter for your Fleers, Mrs. Jewkes; tho' I can have neither Juſtice nor Mercy here, and can⯑not be heard in my Defence, yet a Time will come, [261] may-be, when I ſhall be heard, and when your own Guilt will ſtrike you dumb—Ay! Spirit! ſaid ſhe! and the Vultur too! Muſt we both be dumb? Why that, Lambkin, will be pretty!—Then, ſaid the wicked one, you'll have all the Talk to your ſelf!— Then how will the Tongue of the pretty Lambkin bleat out Innocence, and Virtue, and Honeſty, till the whole Trial be at an End!—You're a wicked Woman, that's certain, ſaid I; and if you thought any thing of another World, could not talk thus. But no Wonder!—It ſhews what Hands I am got into!—Ay, ſo it does, ſaid ſhe; but I beg you'll undreſs, and come to-bed, or I believe your Inno⯑cence won't keep you from ſtill worſe Hands. I will come to-bed, ſaid I, if you will let me have the Keys in my own Hand; not elſe, if I can help it. Yes, ſaid ſhe, and then, hey! for another Contrivance, another Eſcape!—No, no, ſaid I, all my Contri⯑vances are over, I'll aſſure you! Pray let me have the Keys, and I will come to bed. She came to me, and took me in her huge Arms, as if I was a Feather; ſaid ſhe, I do this to ſhew you, what a poor Reſiſtance you can make againſt me, if I pleaſed to exert my ſelf; and ſo, Lambkin, don't ſay to your Wolf, I won't come to bed!—And ſet me down, and tapped me on the Neck: Ah! ſaid ſhe thou art a pretty Creature, it's true; but ſo obſtinate! ſo full of Spirit! If thy Strength was but anſwerable to that, thou wouldſt run away with us all, and this great Houſe too on thy Back!-But undreſs, undreſs, I tell you.
Well, ſaid I, I ſee my Misfortunes make you very merry, and very witty too: But I will love you, if you will humour me with the Keys of the Cham⯑ber-doors.—Are you ſure you will love me, ſaid ſhe?—Now ſpeak your Conſcience!—Why, ſaid I, you muſt not put it ſo cloſe; neither would you, [262] if you thought you had not given Reaſon to doubt it!—But I will love you as well as I can!—I would not tell a wilful Lye: And if I did, you would not believe me, after your hard Uſage of me. Well, ſaid ſhe, that's all fair, I own!—But Nan, pray pull off my young Lady's Shoes and Stockens.—No, pray don't, ſaid I; I will come to-bed preſently, ſince I muſt.
And ſo I went to the Cloſet, and ſcribbled a little about this idle Chit-chat. And ſhe being impor⯑tunate, I was forced to go to-bed; but with ſome of my Cloaths on, as the former Night; and ſhe let me hold the two Keys; for there are two Locks, there being a double Door; and ſo I got a little Sleep that Night, having had none for two or three Nights before.
I can't imagine what ſhe means; but Nan offer'd to talk a little once or twice; and ſhe ſnubb'd her, and ſaid, I charge you, Wench, don't open your Lips before me! And if you are asked any Que⯑ſtions by Mrs. Pamela, don't anſwer her one Word, while I am here!—But ſhe is a lordly Woman to to the Maid-ſervants, and that has always been her Character. O how unlike good Mrs. Jervis in every thing!
SUNDAY Morning.
A Thought came into my Head; I meant no Harm; but it was a little bold. For ſeeing my Maſter dreſſing to go to Church, and his Chariot getting ready, I went to my Cloſet, and I writ, ‘The Prayers of this Congregation are earneſtly deſired for a Gentlemen of great Worth and Ho⯑nour, who labours under a Temptation to ex⯑ert his great Power to ruin a poor, diſtreſſed, worthleſs Maiden.’ [263] And alſo, ‘The Prayers of this Congregation are earneſtly de⯑ſired, by a poor diſtreſſed Creature, for the Preſervation of her Virtue and Innocence.’
Mrs. Jewkes came up; Always writing, ſaid ſhe! and would ſee it. And ſtrait, all that ever I could ſay, carry'd it down to my Maſter.—He look'd upon it, and ſaid, Tell her, ſhe ſhall ſoon ſee how her Prayers are anſwer'd. She is very bold. But as ſhe has rejected all my Favours, her Reckoning for all, is not far off. I look'd after him, out of the Window, and he was charmingly dreſs'd: To be ſure, he is a handſome fine Gentleman!—What pity his Heart is not as good as his Appearance! Why can't I hate him?—But don't be uneaſy, if you ſhould ſee this; for it is impoſſible I ſhould love him; for his Vices all ugly him over, as I may ſay.
My Maſter ſends Word, that he ſhall not come home to Dinner: I ſuppoſe he dines with this Sir Si⯑mon Darnford. I am much concern'd for poor Mr. Williams. Mrs. Jewkes ſays, he is confined ſtill, and takes on much. All his Trouble is brought upon him for my ſake: This grieves me much. My Maſter it ſeems, will have his Money from him. This is very hard; for it is three fifty Pounds, he gave him, as he thought, as a Salary for three Years that he has been with him. But there was no Agree⯑ment between them; and he abſolutely depended on my Maſter's Favour. To be ſure, it was the more generous of him to run theſe Riſques for the ſake of oppreſſed Innocence; and I hope he will meet with his Reward in due Time. Alas for me! I dare not plead for him; that would raiſe my Op⯑preſſor's Jealouſy more. And I have not Intereſt to ſave myſelf!
SUNDAY Evening.
[264]MRS. Jewkes has received a Line from my Ma⯑ſter. I wonder what it is; but his Chariot is come home without him. But ſhe will tell me nothing; ſo it is in vain to ask her. I am ſo fearful of Plots and Tricks, I know not what to do!— Every thing I ſuſpect; for now my Diſgrace is avow'd, what can I think!—To be ſure the worſt will be attempted! I can only pour out my Soul in Prayer to God, for his bleſſed Protection. But if I muſt ſuffer, let me not be long a mournful Survivor!— Only let me not ſhorten my own Time ſinfully!—
This Woman left upon the Table, in the Cham⯑ber, this Letter of my Maſter's to her; and I bolted myſelf in, till I had tranſcrib'd it. You'll ſee how tremblingly by the Lines. I wiſh poor Mr. Wil⯑liams's Releaſe at any Rate; but this Letter makes my Heart ake. Yet I have another Day's Reprieve, thank God!
‘'I Have been ſo preſs'd on Williams's Affair, that I ſhall ſet out this Afternoon, in Sir Simon. Chariot, and with Parſon Peters, who is his Inter⯑ceſſor, for Stamford; and ſhall not be back till to⯑morrow Evening, if then. As to your Ward, I am thoroughly incenſed againſt her. She has with ſtood her Time; and now, would ſhe ſign and ſeal to my Articles, it is too late. I ſhall diſcover ſomething, perhaps, by him, and will, on my Return, let her know, that all her inſnaring Love⯑lineſs ſhall not ſave her from the Fate that awaits her. But let her know nothing of this, leſt it put her fruitful Mind upon Plots and Artifices. Be⯑ſure truſt her not without another with you at [265] Night, leſt ſhe venture the Window in her fooliſh Raſhneſs: For I ſhall require her at your Hands.’
I had but juſt finiſhed taking a Copy of this, and laid the Letter where I had it, and unbolted the Door, when ſhe came up in a great Fright, for fear I ſhould have ſeen it; but I being in my Cloſet, and that lying as ſhe left it, ſhe did not miſtruſt. O, ſaid ſhe, I was afraid you had ſeen my Maſter's Letter here, which I careleſly leſt on the Table. I wiſh, ſaid I, I had known that. Why ſure, ſaid ſhe, if you had, you would not have offered to read my Letters! In⯑deed, ſaid I, I ſhould, at this time, if it had been in my way:—Do, let me ſee it.—Well, ſaid ſhe, I wiſh poor Mr. Williams well off: I underſtand my Maſter is gone to make up Matters with him; which is very good. To be ſure, added ſhe, he is a very good Gentleman, and very forgiving! —Why, ſaid I, as If I had known nothing of the Matter, how can he make up Matters with him? Is not Mr. Williams at Stamford? Yes, ſaid ſhe, I believe ſo; but Parſon Peters pleads for him, and he is gone with him to Stamford, and will not be back to-night: So, we have nothing to do, but to eat our Suppers betimes, and go to-bed. Ay, that's pure, ſaid I; and I ſhall have good Reſt, this Night, I hope. So, ſaid ſhe, you might every Night, but for your own idle Fears. You are afraid of your Friends, when none are near you. Ay, that's true, ſaid I; for I have not one near me.
So have I one more good honeſt Night before me: What the next may be, I know not; and ſo I'll try to take in a good deal of Sleep, while I can be a little eaſy. Therefore here I ſay, Good-night, my dear Pa⯑rents; for I have no more to write about this Night [266] And tho' his Letter ſhocks me, yet I will be as bri [...] as I can, that ſhe mayn't ſuſpect I have ſeen it.
TUESDAY Night.
FOR the future, I will always miſtruſt moſt, when Appearances look faireſt. O your poor Daughter! what has ſhe not ſuffer'd ſince what I wrote of Sunday Night!—My worſt Trial, and my fearfulleſt Danger! O how I ſhudder to write you an Account of this wicked Interval of Time! For, my dear Parents, will you not be too much frighten'd and affected with my Diſtreſs, when I tell you, that his Journey to Stamford was all abominable Pre⯑tence? for he came home privately, and had well nigh effected all his vile Purpoſes▪ and the Ruin of your poor Daughter; and that by ſuch a Plot as I was not in the leaſt apprehenſive of: And Oh! you'll hear what a vile and unwomanly Part that wicked Wretch, Mrs. Jewkes, acted in it!
I left off with letting you know how much I was pleaſed, that I had one Night's Reprieve added to my Honeſty. But I had leſs Occaſion to rejoice than ever, as you will judge by what I have ſaid already. Take then the dreadful Story as well as I can relate it.
The Maid Nan is a little apt to drink, if ſhe can get at Liquor; and Mrs. Jewkes happen'd, or de⯑ſign'd, as is too probable, to leave a Bottle of Cherry-brandy in her way, and the Wench drank ſome of it more than ſhe ſhould; and when ſhe came in to lay the Cloth, Mrs. Jewkes perceiv'd it, and fell a rating at her moſt ſadly; for ſhe has too many Faults of her own, to ſuffer any of the like ſort in any body elſe, if ſhe can help it; and ſhe bid her get out of her Sight, when we had ſupp'd, and go to-bed, to ſleep off her Liquor, before we came to-bed. [267] And ſo the poor Maid went muttering up Stairs.
About two Hours after, which was near Eleven o'Clock, Mrs. Jewkes and I went up to go to-bed; I pleaſing myſelf with what a charming Night I ſhould have. We lock'd both Doors, and ſaw poor Nan, as I thought, (for Oh! 'twas my abominable Maſter, as you ſhall hear by-and-by) ſitting faſt aſleep, in an Elbow-chair, in a dark Corner of the Room, with her Apron thrown over her Head and Neck. And Mrs. Jewkes ſaid, There is that Beaſt of a Wench faſt aſleep, inſtead of being a bed! I knew, ſaid ſhe, ſhe had taken a fine Doſe. I'll wake her, ſaid I, No, don't, ſaid ſhe, let her ſleep on; we ſhall lie better without her. Ay, ſaid I, ſo we ſhall; but won't ſhe get Cold?
Said ſhe, I hope you have no Writing to-night. No, reply'd I, I will go to-bed with you, Mrs Jewkes. Said ſhe, I wonder what you can find to write about ſo much; and am ſure you have better Conveniencies of that kind, and more Paper, than I am aware of; and I had intended to romage you, if my Maſter had not come down; for I 'ſpy'd a broken Tea-cup with Ink, which gave me a Suſpi⯑cion; but as he is come, let him look after you, if he will; and if you deceive him, it will be his own Fault.
All this time we were undreſſing ourſelves. And I fetch'd a deep Sigh! What do you ſigh for? ſaid ſhe, I am thinking, Mrs. Jewkes, anſwer'd I, what a ſad Life I live, and how hard is my Lot. I am ſure the Thief that has robb'd, is much better off than I, 'bating the Guilt; and I ſhould, I think, take it for a Mercy, to be hang'd out of the way, rather than live in theſe cruel Apprehenſions. So, being not ſleepy, and in a prattling Vein, I began to give a little Hiſtory of myſelf, as I did once before to Mrs. Jer⯑vis; in this manner;
[268]Here, ſaid I, were my poor honeſt Parents; they took care to inſtil good Principles into my Mind, till I was almoſt twelve Years of Age; and taught me to prefer Goodneſs and Poverty to the higheſt Condition of Life; and they confirm'd their Leſſons by their own Practice; for they were of late Years remarkably poor, and always as remarkably honeſt, even to a Proverb; for, As honeſt as Goodman ANDREWS, was a Bye-word.
Well then, ſaid I, comes my late dear good Lady, and takes a Fancy to me, and ſaid, ſhe would be the making of me, if I was a good Girl; and ſhe put me to ſing, to dance, to play on the Spinnet, in order to divert her melancholy Hours; and alſo learnt me all manner of fine Needle-work; but ſtill this was her Leſſon, My good Pamela, be virtuous, and keep the Men at a Diſtance: Well, ſo I was, I hope, and ſo I did; and yet, tho' I ſay it, they all loved me and reſpected me; and would do any thing for me, as if I was a Gentlewoman.
But then, what comes next?—Why, it pleaſed God to take my good Lady; and then comes my Maſter: And what ſays he?—Why, in Effect, it is, Be Not Virtuous, Pamela.
So here have I lived above ſixteen Years in Virtue and Reputation, and, all at once, when I come to know what is Good, and what is Evil, I muſt re⯑nounce all the Good, all the whole Sixteen Years In⯑nocence, which, next to God's Grace, I owed chiefly to my Parents and my Lady's good Leſſons and Ex⯑amples; and chuſe the Evil; and ſo, in a Moment's Time, become the vileſt of Creatures! And all this, for what, I pray? Why truly, for a Pair of Diamond Ear-rings, a Necklace, and a Diamond Ring for my Finger; which would not become me: for a few paltry fine Cloaths; which when I wore, it would make but my former Poverty more ridiculous to [269] every body that ſaw me; eſpecially when they knew the baſe Terms I wore them upon. But indeed, I was to have a great Parcel of Guineas beſide; I forget how many; for had there been ten times more, they would have been not ſo much to me, as the honeſt Six Guineas you trick'd me out of, Mrs. Jewkes.
Well, forſooth! but then I was to have I know not how many Pounds a Year for my Life; and my poor Father (there was the Jeſt of it!) was to be the Manager for the abandon'd Proſtitute his Daughter: And then (there was the Jeſt again!) my kind, for⯑giving, virtuous Maſter, would pardon me all my Miſdeeds!
Yes, thank him for nothing, truly. And what, pray, are all theſe violent Miſdeeds?—Why, they are for daring to adhere to the good Leſſons that were taught me; and not learning a new one, that would have reverſed all my former: For not being contented when I was run away with, in order to ruin me; but contriving, if my poor Wits had been able, to get out of Danger, and preſerve myſelf honeſt.
Then was he once jealous of poor John, tho' he knew John was his own Creature, and helped to deceive me.
Then was he outrageous againſt poor Parſon Wil⯑liams; and him has this good, merciful Maſter thrown into Goal; and for what? Why truly, for that being a Divine, and a good Man, he had the Fear of God before his Eyes, and was willing to forego all his Expectations of Intereſt, and aſſiſt an oppreſſed poor Creature.
But to be ſure, I muſt be forward, bold, ſaucy, and what not? to dare to run away from certain Ruin, and to ſtrive to eſcape from an unjuſt Confinement; and I muſt be married to the Parſon, nothing ſo ſure!
[270]He would have had but a poor Catch of me, had I conſented; but he, and you too, know, I did not want to marry any body. I only wanted to go to my poor Parents, and to have my own Liberty, and not to be confined to ſuch an unlawful Reſtraint; and which would not be inflicted upon me, but only that I am a poor, deſtitute, young Body, and have no Friend that is able to right me.
So, Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, here is my Hiſtory in brief. And I am a very unhappy young Creature, to be ſure! —And why am I ſo?—Why, becauſe my Maſter ſees ſomething in my Perſon that takes his preſent Fancy; and becauſe I would not be un⯑done.—Why therefore, to chuſe, I muſt, and I ſhall be undone!—And this is all the Reaſon that can be given!
She heard me run on all this time, while I was undresſing, without any Interruption; and I ſaid, Well, I muſt go to the two Cloſets, ever ſince an Affair of the Cloſet at the other Houſe, tho' he is ſo far off. And I have a good mind to wake this poor Maid. No, don't, ſaid ſhe, I charge you. I am very angry with her, and ſhe'll get no Harm there; but if ſhe wakes, ſhe may come to-bed well enough, as long as there is a Candle in the Chimney.
So I looked into the Cloſets,and kneeled down in my own, as I uſed to do, to ſay my Prayers, and this with my under Cloaths in my Hand, all undreſt; and paſſed by the poor ſleeping Wench, as I thought, in my Return. But, Oh! little did I think, it was my wicked, wicked Maſter in a Gown and Petticoat of hers, and her Apron over his Face and Shoulders. What Meanneſſes will not Lucifer make his Vota⯑ries ſtoop to, to gain their abominable Ends!
Mrs. Jewkes, by this time, was got to-bed, on the further Side, as ſhe uſed to be; and, to make room for the Maid, when ſhe ſhould awake, I got [271] into Bed, and lay cloſe to her. And I ſaid, Where are the Keys? tho', ſaid I, I am not ſo much afraid to-night. Here, ſaid the wicked Woman, put your Arm under mine, and you ſhall find them about my Wriſt, as they uſed to be. So I did, and the abomi⯑nable Deſigner held my Hand with her Right-hand, as my Right-arm was under her Left.
In leſs than a quarter of an Hour, I ſaid, There's poor Nan awake; I hear her ſtir. Let us go to ſleep, ſaid ſhe, and not mind her: She'll come to-bed, when ſhe's quite awake. Poor Soul! ſaid I, I'll warrant ſhe will have the Head-ach finely to⯑morrow for it! Be ſilent, ſaid ſhe, and go to ſleep; you keep me awake; and I never found you in ſo talkative a Humour in my Life. Don't chide me, ſaid I; I will ſay but one thing more: Do you think Nan could hear me talk of my Maſter's Offers? No, no, ſaid ſhe; ſhe was dead aſleep. I'm glad of that, ſaid I; becauſe I would not expoſe my Maſter to his common Servants; and I knew you were no Stranger to his fine Articles. Said ſhe, I think they were fine Articles, and you were bewitch'd you did not cloſe in with them: But let us go to ſleep. So I was ſilent; and the pretended Nan (O wicked baſe, villainous Deſigner! what a Plot, what an unexpected Plot, was this!) ſeem'd to be awaking; and Mrs. Jewkes, abhorred Creature! ſaid, Come, Nan!—what, are you awake at laſt? Pr'ythee come to-bed; for Mrs. Pamela is in a talking Fit, and won't go to ſleep one while.
At that the pretended She came to the Bed ſide; and ſitting down in a Chair, where the Curtain hid her, began to undreſs. Said I, Poor Mrs. Ann, I warrant your Head aches moſt ſadly! How do you do?—She anſwer'd not one Word. Said the ſu⯑perlatively wicked Woman, You know I have or⯑der'd [272] her not to anſwer you, And this Plot, to be ſure, was laid when ſhe gave her theſe Orders, the Night before.
I heard her, as I thought, breathe all quick and ſhort: Indeed, ſaid I, Mrs. Jewkes, the poor Maid is not well. What ails you, Mrs. Ann? And ſtill no Anſwer was made.
But, I tremble to relate it! the pretended She came into Bed; but quiver'd like an Aſpen-leaf; and I, poor Fool that I was! pitied her much.—But well might the barbarous Deceiver tremble at his vile Diſſimulation, and baſe Deſigns.
What Words ſhall I find, my dear Mother, (for my Father ſhould not ſee this ſhocking Part) to de⯑ſcribe the reſt, and my Confuſion, when the guilty Wretch took my left Arm, and laid it under his Neck, as the vile Procureſs held my Right; and then he claſp'd me round my Waiſt!
Said I, Is the Wench mad! Why, how now, Confidence? thinking ſtill it had been Nan. But he kiſſed me with frightful Vehemence; and then his Voice broke upon me like a Clap of Thunder. Now, Pamela, ſaid he, is the dreadful Time of Reckoning come, that I have threaten'd.—I ſcream'd out in ſuch a manner, as never any body heard the like. But there was nobody to help me: And both my Hands were ſecured, as I ſaid. Sure never poor Soul was in ſuch Agonies as I. Wicked Man! ſaid I; wicked, abominable Woman! O God! my God! this Time, this one Time! deliver me from this Di⯑ſtreſs! or ſtrike me dead this Moment. And then I ſcream'd again and again.
Says he, One Word with you, Pamela; one Word hear me but; and hitherto you ſee I offer nothing to you. Is this nothing, ſaid I, to be in Bed here? To hold my Hands between you? I will hear, if [273] you will inſtantly leave the Bed, and take this vil⯑lainous Woman from me!
Said ſhe, (O Diſgrace of Womankind!) What you do, Sir, do; don't ſtand dilly-dallying. She cannot exclaim worſe than ſhe has done. And ſhe'll be quieter when ſhe knows the worſt.
Silence! ſaid he to her; I muſt ſay one Word to you, Pamela; it is this: You ſee, now you are in my Power!—You cannot get from me, nor help yourſelf: Yet have I not offer'd any thing amiſs to you. But if you reſolve not to comply with my Propoſals, I will not loſe this Opportunity: If you do, I will yet leave you.
O Sir, ſaid I, leave me, leave me but, and I will do any thing I ought to do.—Swear then to me, ſaid he, that you will accept my Propoſals!—and then (for this was all deteſtable Grimace) he put his Hand in my Boſom. With Struggling, Fright, Terror, I fainted away quite, and did not come to myſelf ſoon; ſo that they both, from the cold Sweats that I was in, thought me dying—And I remember no more, than that, when, with great Difficulty, they brought me to myſelf, ſhe was ſitting on one ſide of the Bed, with her Cloaths on; and he on the other with his, and in his Gown and Slippers.
Your poor Pamela cannot anſwer for the Liber⯑ties taken with her in her deplorable State of Death. And when I ſaw them there, I ſat up in my Bed, without any Regard to what Appearance I made, and nothing about my Neck; and he ſoothing me, with an Aſpect of Pity and Concern, I put my Hand to his Mouth, and ſaid, O tell me, yet tell me not, what I have ſuffer'd in this Diſtreſs! And I talked quite wild, and knew not what; for, to be ſure, I was on the Point of Diſtraction.
He moſt ſolemnly, and with a bitter Imprecation, vow'd, that he had not offer'd the leaſt Indecency; [274] that he was frighten'd at the terrible manner I was taken with the Fit: That he would deſiſt from his Attempt; and begg'd but to ſee me eaſy and quiet, and he would leave me directly, and go to his own Bed. O then, ſaid I, take from me this moſt wick⯑ed Woman, this vile Mrs. Jewkes, as an Earneſt that I may believe you!
And will you, Sir, ſaid the wicked Wretch, for a Fit or two, give up ſuch an Opportunity as this?— I thought you had known the Sex better.—She is now, you ſee, quite well again!
This I heard; more ſhe might ſay; but I fainted away once more, at theſe Words, and at his claſping his Arms about me again. And when I came a little to myſelf, I ſaw him ſit there, and the Maid Nan, holding a Smelling-bottle to my Noſe, and no Mrs. Jewkes.
He ſaid, taking my Hand, Now will I vow to you, my dear Pamela, that I will leave you the Mo⯑ment I ſee you better, and pacify'd. Here's Nan knows, and will tell you, my Concern for you. I vow to God, I have not offered any Indecency to you. And ſince I found Mrs. Jewkes ſo offenſive to you, I have ſent her to the Maid's Bed, and the Maid ſhall lie with you to-night. And but promiſe me that you will compoſe yourſelf, and I will leave you. But, ſaid I, will not Nan alſo hold my Hand? And will not ſhe let you come in again to me?— He ſaid, by Heaven! I will not come in again to-night. Nan, undreſs yourſelf, go to-bed, and do all you can to comfort the dear Creature: And now, Pamela, ſaid he, give me but your Hand, and ſay you forgive me, and I will leave you to your Repoſe. I held out my trembling Hand, which he vouchſafed to kiſs, and I ſaid, God for⯑give you, Sir, as you have been juſt in my Diſtreſs; and as you will be juſt to what you promiſe! And [275] he withdrew, with a Countenance of Remorſe, as I hoped; and ſhe ſhut the Doors, and, at my Re⯑queſt, brought the Keys to-bed.
This, O my dear Parents! was a moſt dreadful Trial. I tremble ſtill to think of it; and dare not recal all the horrid Circumſtances of it. I hope, as he aſſures me, he was not guilty of Indecency; but have Reaſon to bleſs God, who, by diſabling me in my Faculties, enabled me to preſerve my Innocence; and when all my Strength would have ſignified nothing, magnified himſelf in my Weak⯑neſs.
I was ſo weak all Day on Monday, that I lay a-bed. My Maſter ſhew'd great Tenderneſs for me; and I hope he is really ſorry, and that this will be his laſt Attempt; but he does not ſay ſo neither.
He came in the Morning, as ſoon as he heard the Door open: And I began to be fearful. He ſtopt ſhort of the Bed, and ſaid, Rather than give you Apprehenſions, I will come no further. I ſaid, Your Honour, Sir, and your Mercy, is all I have to beg. He ſat himſelf on the Side of the Bed, and aſked kindly how I did?—begg'd me to be compos'd; ſaid I ſtill look'd a little wildly. And I ſaid, Pray, good Sir, let me not ſee this infamous Mrs. Jewkes; I doubt I cannot bear her Sight. She ſhan't come near you all this Day, if you'll promiſe to compoſe yourſelf. Then, Sir, I will try. He preſſed my Hand very tenderly, and went out. What a Change does this ſhew!—O may it be laſting! But alas! he ſeems only to have alter'd his Method of Proceeding; but retains, I doubt, his wicked Purpoſe!
On Tueſday about Ten o'Clock, when my Maſter heard I was up, he ſent for me down into the Par⯑lour. [276] When I came, he ſaid, Come nearer to me, Pamela. I did ſo, and he took my Hand, and ſaid, You begin to look well again. I am glad of it. You little Slut, how did you frighten me on Sunday Night! —Sir, ſaid I, pray name not that Night; and my Eyes overflow'd at the Remembrance, and I turn'd my Head aſide.
Said he, Place ſome little Confidence in me: I know what thoſe charming Eyes mean, and you ſhall not need to explain yourſelf: For I do aſſure you, that as ſoon as I ſaw you change, and a cold Sweat bedew your pretty Face, and you fainted away, I quitted the Bed, and Mrs. Jewkes did ſo too. And I put on my Gown, and ſhe fetch'd her Smelling-bottle, and we did all we could to reſtore you; and my Paſſion for you was all ſwallowed up in the Concern I had for your Recovery; for I thought I never ſaw a Fit ſo ſtrong and violent in my Life; and fear'd we ſhould not bring you to Life again; for what I ſaw you in once before, was nothing to it. This, ſaid he, might be my Folly, and my Unacquaintedneſs with what your Sex can ſhew when they are in Earneſt. But this I repeat to you, that your Mind may be intirely com⯑forted—All I offer'd to you, (and that, I am ſure, was innocent) was before you fainted away.
Sir, ſaid I, that was very bad: And it was too plain you had the worſt Deſigns. When, ſaid he, I tell you the Truth in one Inſtance, you may believe me in the other. I know not, I declare beyond this lovely Boſom, your Sex; but that I did intend what you call the worſt, is moſt certain: And tho' I would not too much alarm you now, I could curſe my Weakneſs, and my Folly, which makes me own, that I love you beyond all your Sex, and cannot live without you. But, if I am Maſter of myſelf, and my own Reſolution, I will not attempt to force you to any thing again. Sir, ſaid I, you may eaſily keep [277] your Reſolution, if you will ſend me out of your way, to my poor Parents; that is all I beg.
'Tis a Folly to talk of it, ſaid he. You muſt not, ſhall not go! And if I could be aſſur'd you would not attempt it, you ſhould have better Uſage, and your Confinement ſhould be made eaſier to you. But to what End, Sir, am I to ſtay? ſaid I: You yourſelf ſeem not ſure you can keep your own pre⯑ſent good Reſolutions; and do you think, if I was to ſtay, when I could get away, and be ſafe, it would not look, as if either I confided too much in my own Strength, or would tempt my Ruin? And as if I was not in Earneſt to wiſh myſelf ſafe and out of Danger?—And then, how long am I to ſtay? And to what Purpoſe? And in what Light muſt I appear to the World? Would not that cenſure me, altho' I might be innocent? And you will allow, Sir, that if there be any thing valuable or exemplary in a good Name, or fair Reputation, one muſt not deſpiſe the World's Cenſure, if one can avoid it.
Well, ſaid he, I ſent not for you on this Account, juſt now; but for two Reaſons: The firſt is, that you promiſe me, that for a Fortnight to come you will not offer to go away without my expreſs Con⯑ſent; and this I expect for your own ſake, that I may give you a little more Liberty. And the ſecond is, That you will ſee and forgive Mrs. Jewkes: She takes on much, and thinks, that, as all her Fault was her Obedience to me, it would be very hard to ſacrifice her, as ſhe calls it, to your Reſent⯑ment.
As to the firſt, Sir, ſaid I, it is a hard Injunction, for the Reaſons I have mentioned. And as to the ſecond, conſidering her vile unwomanly Wicked⯑neſs, and her Endeavours to inſtigate you more to ruin me, when your returning Goodneſs ſeem'd to [278] have ſome Compaſſion upon me, it is ſtill harder. But to ſhew my Obedience to your Commands, (for you know, my dear Parents, I might as well make a Merit of my Compliance, when my Re⯑fuſal would ſtand me in no ſtead) I will con⯑ſent to both; and to every thing elſe, that you ſhall be pleas'd to injoin, which I can do with Innocence.
That's my good Girl! ſaid he, and kiſs'd me. This is quite prudent, and ſhews me, that you don't take inſolent Advantage of my Favour for you; and will, perhaps, ſtand you in more ſtead than you are aware of.
So he rung the Bell, and ſaid, call down Mrs. Jewkes. She came down, and he took my Hand, and put it into hers; and ſaid, Mrs. Jewkes, I am oblig'd to you for all your Diligence and Fidelity to me; but Pamela, I muſt own, is not; becauſe the Service I employ'd you in was not ſo very obliging to her, as I could have wiſh'd ſhe would have thought it; and you were not to favour her, but obey me. But yet I'll aſſure you, at the very firſt Word, ſhe has once obliged me, by conſenting to be Friends with you; and, if ſhe gives me no great Cauſe, I ſhall not, perhaps, put you on ſuch diſagreeable Ser⯑vice again.—Now, therefore, be you once more Bed-fellows and Board-fellows, as I may ſay, for ſome Days longer; and ſee that Pamela ſends no Letters nor Meſſages out of the Houſe, nor keeps a Correſpondence unknown to me, eſpecially with that Williams; and, as for the reſt, ſhew the dear Girl all the Reſpect that is due to one I muſt love, if ſhe will deſerve it, as I hope ſhe will yet; and let her be under no unneceſſary or harſh Reſtraints. But your watchful Care is not, however, to ceaſe: And re⯑member, that you are not to diſoblige me, to oblige her; and that I will not, cannot, yet part with her.
[279]Mrs. Jewkes look'd very ſullen, and as if ſhe would be glad ſtill to do me a good Turn, if it lay in her Power.
I took Courage then to drop a Word or two for poor Mr. Williams; but he was angry with me for it, and ſaid, he could not endure to hear his Name in my Mouth; ſo I was forc'd to have done for that time.
All this time my Papers that I had bury'd under the Roſe-buſh, lay there ſtill; and I begg'd for Leave to ſend a Letter to you. So I ſhould, he ſaid, if he might read it firſt. But this did not anſwer my De⯑ſign; and yet I would have ſent you ſuch a Letter as he might ſee, if I had been ſure my Danger was over. But that I cannot; for he now ſeems to take another Method, and what I am more afraid of, be⯑cauſe, may-be, he may watch an Opportunity, and join Force with it, on Occaſion, when I am leaſt prepar'd: For now he ſeems to abound with Kind⯑neſs, and talks of Love without Reſerve, and makes nothing of allowing himſelf in the Liberty of kiſſing me, which he calls innocent; but which I do not like, and eſpecially in the manner he does it: but for a Maſter to do it at all to a Servant, has Mean⯑ing too much in it, not to alarm an honeſt Body.
WEDNESDAY Morning.
I Find I am watched and ſuſpected ſtill very cloſe: and I wiſh I was with you; but that muſt not be, it ſeems, this Fortnight. I don't like this Fortnight, and it will be a tedious and a dangerous one to me, I doubt.
My Maſter juſt now ſent for me down to take a Walk with him in the Garden. But I like him not at all, nor his Ways. For he would have all the [280] way his Arm about my Waiſt, and ſaid abundance of fond Things to me, enough to make me proud, if his Deſign had not been apparent. After walking about, he led me into a little Alcove, on the further Part of the Garden; and really made me afraid of myſelf. For he began to be very tiezing, and made me ſit on his Knee, and was ſo often kiſſing me, that I ſaid, Sir, I don't like to be here at all, I aſſure you. Indeed you make me afraid!—And what made me the more ſo, was what he once ſaid to Mrs. Jewkes, and did not think I heard him, and which, tho' always uppermoſt with me, I did not mention before, becauſe I did not know how to bring it in, in my Writing.
She, I ſuppoſe, had been encouraging him in his Wickedneſs; for it was before the laſt dreadful Trial; and I only heard what he anſwer'd.
Said he, I will try once more; but I have begun wrong. For I ſee Terror does but add to her Froſt; but ſhe is a charming Girl, and may be thaw'd by Kindneſs; and I ſhould have melted her by Love, inſtead of freezing her by Fear.
Is he not a wicked ſad Man for this?—To be ſure, I bluſh while I write it. But I truſt, that that God who has deliver'd me from the Paw of the Lion and the Bear; that is, his and Mrs. Jewkes's Violences; will alſo deliver me from this Philiſtine, myſelf, and my own Infirmities, that I may not defy the Commands of the Living God!
But, as I was ſaying, this Expreſſion coming into my Thoughts, I was of Opinion, I could not be too much on my Guard, at all times; more eſpecially when he took ſuch Liberties: For he profeſſed Ho⯑nour all the Time with his Mouth, while his Actions did not correſpond. I begg'd and pray'd he would let me go; And had I not appear'd quite regardleſs [281] of all he ſaid, and reſolved not to ſtay, if I could help it, I know not how far he would have pro⯑ceeded: For I was forced to fall down upon my Knees.
At laſt he walk'd out with me, ſtill bragging of his Honour, and his Love. Yes, yes, Sir, ſaid I, your Honour is to deſtroy mine; and your Love is to ruin me, I ſee it too plainly. But, indeed, I will not walk with you, Sir, ſaid I, any more. Do you know, ſaid he, whom you talk to, and where you are?
You may believe I had Reaſon to think him not ſo decent as he ſhould be; for I ſaid, As to where I am, Sir, I know it too well, and that I have no Creature to befriend me: And, as to who you are, Sir, let me aſk you, what you would have me anſwer?
Why tell me, ſaid he, What Anſwer you would make? It will only make you angry, ſaid I; and ſo I ſhall fare worſe, if poſſible. I won't be angry, ſaid he. Why then, Sir, ſaid I, you cannot be my late good Lady's Son; for ſhe lov'd me, and taught me Virtue. You cannot then be my Maſter; for no Maſter demeans himſelf ſo to his poor Servant.
He put his Arm round me, and his other Hand on my Neck; which made me more angry and bold; and he ſaid, What then am I? Why, ſaid I, (ſtruggling from him, and in a great Paſſion) to be ſure you are Lucifer himſelf in the Shape of my Maſter, or you could not uſe me thus. Theſe are too great Liberties, ſaid he, in Anger, and I deſire that you will not repeat them, for your own ſake: For if you have no Decency towards me, I'll have none to you.
I was running from him; and he ſaid, Come back, when I bid you.—So, knowing every Place was alike dangerous to me, and I had nobody to run to, [282] I came back, at his Call, and ſeeing him look diſ⯑pleaſed, I held my Hands together, and wept, and ſaid, Pray, Sir, forgive me. No, ſaid he, rather ſay, Pray, Lucifer, forgive me; and now, ſince you take me for the Devil, how can you expect any Good from me?—How, rather, can you expect any thing but the worſt Treatment from me?—You have given me a Character, Pamela, and blame me not that I act up to it.
Sir, ſaid I, let me beg you to forgive me. I am really ſorry for my Boldneſs; but indeed you don't uſe me like a Gentleman; and how can I expreſs my Reſentment, if I mince the Matter, while you are ſo indecent?
Preciſe Fool! ſaid he, what Indecencies have I offer'd you?—I was bewitch'd I had not gone thro' my Purpoſe laſt Sunday Night; and then your licen⯑tious Tongue had not given the worſt Name to little puny Freedoms, that ſhew my Love and my Folly at the ſame time. But begone, ſaid he, taking my Hand, and toſſing it from him, and learn another Conduct, and more Wit; and I will lay aſide my fooliſh Regard for you, and aſſert myſelf. Begone, ſaid he, again, with a haughty Air.
Indeed, Sir, ſaid I, I cannot go, till you pardon me, which I beg on my bended Knees. I am truly ſorry for my Boldneſs.—But I ſee how you go on: You creep by little and little upon me; and now ſooth me, and now threaten me; and if I ſhould for⯑bear to ſhew my Reſentment, when you offer In⯑civilities to me, would not that be to be loſt by degrees? Would it not ſhew, that I could bear any thing from you, if I did not expreſs all the Indig⯑nation I could expreſs, at the firſt Approaches you make to what I dread? And, have you not as good as avow'd my Ruin?—And have you once made me hope, you will quit your Purpoſes againſt me? [283] How then, Sir, can I act, but by ſhewing my Ab⯑horrence of every Step that makes towards my Un⯑doing? And what is left me but Words?—And can theſe Words be other than ſuch ſtrong ones, as ſhall ſhew the Deteſtation, which, from the Bottom of my Heart, I have for every Attempt upon my Virtue? Judge for me, Sir, and pardon me.
Pardon you! ſaid he, what! when you don't re⯑pent?—When you have the Boldneſs to juſtify yourſelf in your Fault? Why don't you ſay, you never will again offend me? I will endeavour, Sir, ſaid I, always to preſerve that Decency towards you which becomes me. But really, Sir, I muſt beg your Excuſe for ſaying, That when you forget what belongs to Decency in your Actions, and when Words are all that are left me, to ſhew my Re⯑ſentment of ſuch Actions, I will not promiſe to for⯑bear the ſtrongeſt Expreſſions that my diſtreſſed Mind ſhall ſuggeſt to me; nor ſhall your angrieſt Frowns deter me, when my Honeſty is in Queſtion.
What then, ſaid he, do you beg Pardon for? Where is the Promiſe of Amendment, for which I ſhould forgive you? Indeed, Sir, ſaid I, I own that muſt abſolutely depend on your Uſage of me: For I will bear any thing you can inflict upon me with Patience, even to the laying down of my Life, to ſhew my Obedience to you in other Caſes; but I cannot be patient, I cannot be paſſive, when my Virtue is at Stake!—It would be criminal in me, if I was.
He ſaid he never ſaw ſuch a Fool in his Life! And he walk'd by the Side of me ſome Yards, without ſaying a Word, and ſeem'd vex'd; and, at laſt walked in, bidding me attend him in the Garden after Dinner. So having a little Time, I went up, and wrote thus far.
WEDNESDAY Night.
[284]IF, my dear Parents, I am not deſtin'd more ſurely than ever for Ruin, I have now more Comfort before me, than ever I yet knew: And am either nearer my Happineſs, or my Miſery, than ever I was. God protect me from the latter, if it be his bleſſed Will! I have now ſuch a Scence to open to you, that I know will alarm both your Hopes and your Fears, as it does mine. And this it is:
After my Maſter had din'd, he took a Turn into the Stables, to look at his Stud of Horſes; and, when he came in, he open'd the Parlour-door, where Mrs. Jewkes and I ſat at Dinner; and, at his Entrance, we both roſe up; but he ſaid, Sit ſtill, ſit ſtill; and let me ſee how you eat your Victuals, Pa⯑mela. O, ſaid Mrs. Jewkes, very poorly, Sir, I'll aſſure you. No, ſaid I, pretty well, Sir, conſidering. None of your Conſiderings! ſaid he,Pretty face; and tapp'd me on the Cheek. I bluſh'd, but was glad he was ſo good-humour'd; but I could not tell how to ſit before him, nor to behave myſelf. So he ſaid, I know, Pamela, you are a nice Carver: My Mo⯑ther uſed to ſay ſo. My Lady, Sir, ſaid I, was very good to me, in every thing, and would always make me do the Honours of her Table for her, when ſhe was with her few ſelect Friends that ſhe lov'd. Cut up, ſaid he, that Chicken. I did ſo. Now, ſaid he, and took a Knife and Fork, and put a Wing upon my Plate, let me ſee you eat that. O Sir, ſaid I, I have eat a whole Breaſt of a Chicken already, and cannot eat ſo much. But he ſaid, I muſt eat it for his ſake, and he would learn me to eat heartily: So I did eat it; but was much confuſed at his ſo kind and unuſual Freedom and Condeſcenſion. And, [285] good Sirs! you can't imagine how Mrs. Jewkes look'd, and ſtar'd, and how reſpectful ſhe ſeem'd to me, and call'd me good Madam, I'll aſſure you! urging me to take a little Bit of Tart.
My Maſter took two or three Turns about the Room, muſing and thoughtful, as I had never be⯑fore ſeen him; and at laſt he went out, ſaying, I am going into the Garden: You know, Pamela, what I ſaid to you before Dinner. I roſe and curt'ſy'd, ſaying, I would attend his Honour; and he ſaid. Do, good Girl!
Well, ſaid Mrs. Jewkes, I ſee how things will go. O Madam, as ſhe call'd me again, I am ſure you are to be our Miſtreſs! And then I know what will be⯑come of me. Ah! Mrs. Jewkes, ſaid I, if I can but keep myſelf virtuous, 'tis the moſt of my Ambition; and, I hope, no Temptation ſhall make me other⯑wiſe.
Nothwithſtanding I had no Reaſon to be pleas'd with his Treatment of me before Dinner, yet I made haſte to attend him; and I found him walking by the Side of that Pond, which, for want of Grace, and thro' a ſinful Deſpondence, had like to have been ſo fatal to me, and the Sight of which, ever ſince, has been a Trouble and Reproach to me. And it was by the Side of this Pond, and not far from the Place where I had that dreadful Conflict, that my preſent Hopes, if I am not to be deceiv'd again, began to dawn; which I preſume to flatter myſelf with being an happy Omen for me, as if God Almighty would ſhew your poor ſinful Daughter, how well I did, to put my Affiance in his Goodneſs, and not to throw away myſelf, becauſe my Ruin ſeem'd inevitable to my ſhort-ſighted Apprehenſion.
So he was pleaſed to ſay, Well, Pamela, I am glad you are come of your own Accord, as I may ſay: Give me your Hand, I did ſo; and he look'd at [286] me very ſteadily, and preſſing my Hand all the time, at laſt ſaid, I will now talk to you in a ſerious manner.
You have a great deal of Wit, a great deal of Penetration, much beyond your Years; and, as I thought, your Opportunities. You are poſſeſſed of an open, frank and generous Mind; and a Perſon ſo lovely, that you excel all your Sex, in my Eyes. All theſe Accompliſhments have engag'd my Affections ſo deeply, that as I have often ſaid, I cannot live with⯑out you; and I would divide, with all my Soul, my Eſtate with you, to make you mine upon my own Terms. Theſe you have abſolutely rejected; and that, tho' in ſaucy Terms enough, yet, in ſuch a manner, as makes me admire you more. Your pretty Chit-chat to Mrs. Jewkes, the laſt Sunday Night, ſo innocent, and ſo full of beautiful Simpli⯑city, half diſarmed my Reſolutions before I approach'd your Bed. And I ſee you ſo watchful over your Vir⯑tue, that, tho' I hop'd to find it otherwiſe, I cannot but ſay, my Paſſion for you is increas'd by it. But now what ſhall I ſay further, Pamela?—I will make you, tho' a Party, my Adviſer in this Matter; tho' not perhaps my definitive Judge.
You know I am not a very abandon'd Profligate: I have hitherto been guilty of no very enormous or vile Actions. This of ſeizing you, and confining you thus, may, perhaps, be one of the worſt, at leaſt to Perſons of real Innocence. Had I been utterly given up to my Paſſions, I ſhould before now have gratify'd them, and not have ſhewn that Remorſe and Compaſſion for you, which have repriev'd you more than once, when abſolutely in my Power; and you are as inviolate a Virgin as you were when you came into my Houſe.
But, what can I do? Conſider the Pride of my Condition, I cannot endure the Thought of Mar⯑riage, [287] even with a Perſon of equal or ſuperior Degree to myſelf; and have declin'd ſeveral Pro⯑poſals of that kind: How then, with the Diſtance between us, and in the World's Judgment, can I think of making you my Wife? —Yet I muſt have you; I cannot bear the Thoughts of any other Man ſupplanting me in your Affections. And the very Apprehenſion of that has made me hate the Name of Williams, and uſe him in a manner unworthy of my Temper.
Now, Pamela, judge for me; and, ſince I have told you thus candidly my Mind, and I ſee yours is big with ſome important Meaning, by your Eyes, your Bluſhes, and that ſweet Confuſion which I be⯑hold ſtruggling in your Boſom, tell me with like Openneſs and Candour, what you think I ought to do, and what you would have me do.—
It is impoſſible for me to expreſs the Agitations of my Mind on this unexpected Declaration, ſo con⯑trary to his former Behaviour. His Manner, too, had ſomething ſo noble, and ſo ſincere, as I thought; that, alas for me! I found I had Need of all my poor Diſcretion, to ward off the Blow which this Treatment gave to my moſt guarded Thoughts. I threw myſelf at his Feet; for I trembled, and could hardly ſtand: O Sir, ſaid I, ſpare your poor Servant's Confuſion! O ſpare the poor Pamela!—Speak out, ſaid he, and tell me what I bid you, What you think I ought to do? I cannot ſay what you ought to do, anſwer'd I: But I only beg you will not ruin me; and, if you think me virtuous, if you think me ſincerely honeſt, let me go to my poor Parents. I will vow to you, that I will never ſuffer myſelf to be engag'd without your Approbation.
Still he inſiſted upon a more explicit Anſwer to his Queſtion, of what I thought he ought to do. And I ſaid, As to my poor Thoughts, of what you [288] ought to do, I muſt needs ſay, that, indeed, I think you ought to regard the World's Opinion, and avoid doing any thing diſgraceful to your Birth and Fortune; and therefore, if you really honour the poor Pamela with your Reſpect, a little Time, Abſence, and the Converſation of worthier Perſons of my Sex, will effectually enable you to overcome a Regard ſo unworthy of your Condition: And this, good Sir, is the beſt Advice I can offer.
Charming Creature! lovely Pamela! ſaid he, (with an Ardor, that was never before ſo agreeable to me) this generous Manner is of a Piece with all the reſt of your Conduct. But tell me ſtill more explicitly, what you would adviſe me to in the Caſe.
O Sir, ſaid I, take not Advantage of my Credulity, and theſe my weak Moments; but, were I the firſt Lady in the Land, inſtead of the poor abject Pa⯑mela, I would, I could tell you. But I can ſay no more—
O my dear Father and Mother! now I know you will indeed be concern'd for me;—for now I am for myſelf:—And now I begin to be afraid, I know too well the Reaſon, why all his hard Trials of me, and my black Apprehenſions, would not let me hate him.
But be aſſur'd ſtill, by God's Grace, that I ſhall do nothing unworthy of your Pamela; and if I find that he is ſtill capable of deceiving me, and that this Conduct is only put on to delude me more, I ſhall think nothing in this World ſo vile and ſo odious; and nothing, if he be not the worſt of his Kind, (as he ſays, and, I hope, he is not) ſo deſperately guileful as the Heart of Man.
He generouſly ſaid, I will ſpare your Confuſion, Pamela. But I hope, I may promiſe myſelf, that you can love me preferably to any other Man; and that no one in the World has had any Share in your [289] Affections; for I am very jealous of what I love, and if I thought you had a ſecret Whiſpering in your Soul, that had not yet come up to a Wiſh, for any other Man breathing, I ſhould not forgive my⯑ſelf to perſiſt in my Affection for you; nor you, if you did not frankly acquaint me with it.
As I ſtill continued on my Knees, on the Graſs Slope by the Pond-ſide, he ſat himſelf down on the Graſs by me, and took me in his Arms, Why he⯑ſitates my Pamela, ſaid he? — Can you not anſwer me with Truth, as I wiſh? If you cannot, ſpeak, and I will forgive you.
O, good Sir, ſaid I, it is not that; indeed it is not: But a frightful Word or two that you ſaid to Mrs. Jewkes, when you thought I was not in hearing, comes croſs my Mind; and makes me dread, that I am in more Danger than ever I was in my Life.
You have never found me a common Liar, ſaid he, (too fearful and fooliſh Pamela!) nor will I anſwer how long I may hold in my preſent Mind; for my Pride ſtruggles hard within me, I'll aſſure you; and if you doubt me, I have no Obligation to your Confidence or Opinion. But at preſent, I am really ſincere in what I ſay: And I expect you will be ſo too; and anſwer directly my Queſtion.
I find Sir, ſaid I, I know not myſelf; and your Queſtion is of ſuch a Nature, that I only want to tell you what I heard, and to have your kind Anſwer to it; or elſe, what I have to ſay to your Queſtion, may pave the Way to my Ruin, and ſhew a Weakneſs that I did not believe was in me.
Well, ſaid he, you may ſay what you have over-heard; for, in nor anſwering me directly, you put my Soul upon the Rack; and half the Trouble I have [290] had with you, would have brought to my Arms the fineſt Lady in England.
O Sir, ſaid I, my Virtue is as dear to me, as if I was of the higheſt Quality; and my Doubts (for which you know I have had too much Reaſon) have made me troubleſome. But now, Sir, I will tell you what I heard, which has given me great Un⯑eaſineſs.
You talked to Mrs. Jewkes of having begun wrong with me, in trying to ſubdue me with Terror, and of Froſt, and ſuch-like;— you remember it well:— and that you would, for the future, change your Con⯑duct, and try to melt me, that was your Word, by Kindneſs.
I fear not, Sir, the Grace of God ſupporting me, that any Acts of Kindneſs would make me forget what I owe to my Virtue; but, Sir, I may, I find, be made more miſerable by ſuch Acts, than by Ter⯑ror; becauſe my Nature is too frank and open to make me wiſh to be ingrateful; and if I ſhould be taught a Leſſon I never yet learnt, with what Re⯑gret ſhould I deſcend to the Grave, to think, that I could not hate my Undoer? And, that, at the laſt great Day, I muſt ſtand up as an Accuſer of the poor unhappy Soul, that I could wiſh it in my Power to ſave!
Exalted Girl, ſaid he, what a Thought is that! — Why now, Pamela, you excel your ſelf! You have given me a Hint that will hold me long. But, ſweet Creature, ſaid he, tell me what is this Leſſon, which you never yet learnt, and which you are ſo afraid of learning?
If, Sir, ſaid I, you will again generouſly ſpare my Confuſion, I need not ſay it: But this I will ſay, in Anſwer to the Queſtion you ſeem moſt ſolicitous about, That I know not the Man breathing that I [291] would wiſh to be marry'd to, or that ever I thought of with ſuch a Hope. I had brought my Mind ſo to love Poverty, that I hop'd for nothing but to return to the beſt, tho' the pooreſt, of Parents; and to employ myſelf in ſerving God, and comforting them; and you know not, Sir, how you diſap⯑pointed my Hopes, and my propoſed honeſt Plea⯑ſures, when you ſent me hither.
Well then, ſaid he, I may promiſe myſelf, that neither the Parſon, nor any other Man, is any the leaſt ſecret Motive to your ſtedfaſt Refuſal of my Offers? Indeed, Sir, ſaid I, you may; and, as you was pleaſed to ask, I anſwer, that I have not the leaſt Shadow of a Wiſh, or Thought, for any Man living.
But, ſaid he; for I am fooliſhly jealous, and yet it ſhews my Fondneſs for you; have you not en⯑courag'd Williams to think you will have him? In⯑deed, Sir, ſaid I, I have not; but the very contrary. And would you not have had him, ſaid he, if you had got away by his Means? I had reſolv'd, Sir, ſaid I, in my Mind otherwiſe; and he knew it, and the poor Man — I charge you, ſaid he, ſay not a Word in his Favour! You will excite a Whirlwind in my Soul, if you name him with Kindneſs, and then you'll be borne away with the Tempeſt.
Sir, ſaid I, I have done! — Nay, ſaid he, but do not have done; let me know the whole. If you have any Regard for him, ſpeak out; for, it would end fearfully for you, for me, and for him, if I found, that you diſguis'd any Secret of your Soul from me, in this nice Particular.
Sir, ſaid I, if I have ever given you Cauſe to think me ſincere — Say then, ſaid he, interrupting me, with great Vehemence; and taking both my Hands between his, Say, That you now, in the Preſence [292] of God, declare, that you have not any the moſt hidden Regard for Williams, or any other Man.
Sir, ſaid I, I do. As God ſhall bleſs me, and preſerve my Innocence, I have not. Well, ſaid he, I will believe you, Pamela; and in time, perhaps, I may better bear that Man's Name. And, if I am convinc'd that you are not prepoſſeſs'd, my Vanity makes me aſſur'd, that I need not to fear a Place in your Eſteem, equal, if not preferable to any Man in England. But yet it ſtings my Pride to the quick, that you was ſo eaſily brought, and at ſuch a ſhort Acquaintance, to run away with that College No⯑vice!
O good Sir, ſaid I, may I be heard one Thing, and tho' I bring upon me your higheſt Indignation, I will tell you, perhaps the unneceſſary and impru⯑dent, but yet, the whole Truth.
My Honeſty (I am poor and lowly, and am not intitled to call it Honour) was in Danger. I ſaw no Means of ſecuring myſelf from your avow'd At⯑tempts. You had ſhew'd you would not ſtick at little Matters; and what, Sir, could any body have thought of my Sincerity, in preferring that to all other Conſiderations, if I had not eſcap'd from theſe Dangers, if I could have found any way for it? — I am not going to ſay any thing for him; but indeed, indeed, Sir, I was the Cauſe of putting him upon aſſiſting me in my Eſcape. I got him to acquaint me, what Gentry there were in the Neighbourhood, that I might fly to; and prevail'd upon him; — Don't frown at me, good Sir, for I muſt tell you the whole Truth! — to apply to one Lady Jones; to Lady Darnford; and he was ſo good to apply to Mr. Peters the Miniſter: but they all refus'd me; and then it was he let me know, that there was no honourable Way but Marriage. [293] That I declin'd; and he agreed to aſſiſt me for God's ſake.
Now, ſaid he, you are going — I boldly put my Hand before his Mouth, hardly knowing the Liberty I took; Pray, Sir, ſaid I, don't be angry; I have juſt done — I would only ſay, That rather than have ſtaid to be ruin'd, I would have thrown myſelf upon the pooreſt Beggar that ever the World ſaw, if I thought him honeſt. — And I hope, when you duly weigh all Matters, you will forgive me, and not think me ſo bold and ſo forward as you have been pleas'd to call me.
Well, ſaid he, even in this your laſt Speech, which, let me tell you, ſhews more your Honeſty of Heart, than your Prudence, you have not overmuch pleas'd me. But I muſt love you; and that vexes me not a little. But tell me, Pamela; for now the former Queſtion recurs; Since you ſo much prize your Ho⯑nour and your Virtue; ſince all Attempts againſt that are ſo odious to you; and, ſince I have avow⯑edly made ſeveral of theſe Attempts, do you think it is poſſible for you to love me preferably to any other of my Sex?
Ah! Sir, ſaid I, and here my Doubt recurs, that you may thus graciouſly uſe me, to take Advan⯑tage of my Credulity.
Still perverſe and doubting, ſaid he! Cannot you take me as I am at preſent; and that, I have told you, is ſincere and undeſigning, whatever I may be hereafter? —
Ah! Sir, reply'd I, what can I ſay? — I have already ſaid too much, if this dreadful Hereafter ſhould take place. Don't bid me ſay how well I can — And then, my Face, glowing as the Fire, I, all abaſh'd, lean'd upon his Shoulder, to hide my Confuſion.
[294]He claſp'd me to him with great Ardour, and ſaid, Hide your dear Face in my Boſom, my beloved Pamela; your innocent Freedoms charm me!—But then ſay, How well—what?
If you will be good, ſaid I, to your poor Servant, and ſpare her, I cannot ſay too much! But if not, I am doubly undone!—Undone indeed!
Said he, I hope my preſent Temper will hold; for I tell you frankly, that I have known in this agreeable Hour more ſincere Pleaſure, than I have experienc'd in all the guilty Tumults that my deſiring Soul put me into, in the Hopes of poſſeſſing you on my own Terms. And, Pamela, you muſt pray for the Continuance of this Temper; and I hope your Prayers will get the better of my Temptations.
This ſweet Goodneſs overpower'd all my Reſerves. I threw myſelf at his Feet, and embrac'd his Knees: What Pleaſure, Sir, you give me, at theſe gracious Words, is not lent your poor Servant to expreſs!— I ſhall be too much rewarded for all my Sufferings, if this Goodneſs hold! God grant it may, for your own Soul's ſake, as well as mine. And Oh! how happy ſhould I be, if—
He ſtopt me, and ſaid, But, my dear Girl, what muſt we do about the World, and the World's Cen⯑ſure? —Indeed, I cannot marry!
Now was I again ſtruck all of a Heap. However, ſoon recollecting myſelf, Sir, ſaid I, I have not the Preſumption to hope ſuch an Honour. If I may be permitted to return in Peace and Safety to my poor Parents, to pray for you there; it is all I at preſent requeſt! This, Sir, after all my Apprehenſions and Dangers, will be a great Pleaſure to me. And, if I know my own poor Heart, I ſhall wiſh you happy in a Lady of ſuitable Degree: And rejoice moſt ſincerely in every Circumſtance that ſhall make for [295] the Happineſs of my late good Lady's moſt be⯑loved Son!
Well, ſaid he, this Converſation, Pamela, is gone farther than I intended it. You need not be afraid, at this rate, of truſting yourſelf with me: But it is I, that ought to be doubtful of myſelf, when I am with you.—But, before I ſay any thing further on this Subject, I will take my proud Heart to Task; and, till then, let every thing be, as if this Con⯑verſation had never paſs'd. Only, let me tell you, that the more Confidence you place in me, the more you'll oblige me: But your Doubts will only beget Cauſe of Doubts. And with this ambiguous Saying, he ſaluted me in a more formal manner, if I may ſo ſay, than before, and lent me his Hand, and ſo we walk'd towards the Houſe, Side-by-ſide, he ſeeming very thoughtful and penſive, as if he had already repented him of his Goodneſs.
What ſhall I do, what Steps take, if all this be deſigning! — O the Perplexities of theſe cruel Doubtings!—To be ſure, if he be falſe, as I may call it, I have gone too far, much too far!—I am ready, on the Apprehenſion of this, to bite my for⯑ward Tongue, (or rather to beat my more forward Heart, that dictated to that poor Machine) for what I have ſaid. But ſure, at leaſt, he muſt be, ſincere for the Time! — He could not be ſuch a practiſed Diſſembler! — If he could, O how deſperately wicked is the Heart of Man! — And where could he learn all theſe barbarous Arts? — If ſo, it muſt be native ſurely to the Sex! — But, ſilent be my raſh Cenſurings; be huſh'd, ye ſtormy Tumults of my diſturbed Mind; for have I not a Father who is a Man!—A Man who knows no Guile! who would do no Wrong! — who would not deceive or oppreſs [296] to gain a Kingdom! — How then can I think it is native to the Sex? And I muſt alſo hope my good Lady's Son cannot be the worſt of Men! — If he is, hard the Lot of the excellent Woman that bore him! — But much harder the Hap of your poor Pamela, who has fallen into ſuch Hands! — But yet I will truſt in God, and hope the beſt; and ſo lay down my tired Pen for this Time.