PAMELA, or VIRTUE REWARDED
Illustrations
by Joseph Highmore

LETTER XXXII
O MY DEAREST FATHER AND MOTHER!
Let me write, and bewail my miserable hard fate, though I
have no hope how what I write can be conveyed to your
hands!—I have now nothing 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 myself to
thy good pleasure: And still, I hope, desperate as my
condition seems, that as these trials are not of my own
seeking, nor the effects of my 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 situation of your poor daughter! The
unhappy Pamela may be undone (which God forbid, and sooner
deprive me of life!) before you can know her hard lot!
O the unparalleled wickedness, stratagems, and devices,
of those who call themselves gentlemen, yet pervert the
design of Providence, in giving them ample means to do good,
to their own everlasting perdition, and the ruin of poor
oppressed innocence!
But now I will tell you what has befallen me; and yet,
how shall you receive it? Here is no honest John to carry my
letters to you! And, besides, I am watched in all my steps;
and no doubt shall be, till my hard fate may ripen his
wicked projects for my ruin. I will every day, however,
write my sad state; and some way, perhaps, may be opened to
send the melancholy scribble to you. But, alas! when you
know it, what will it do but aggravate your troubles? For,
O! what can the abject poor do against the mighty rich, when
they are determined to oppress?
Well, but I must proceed to write what I had hoped to
tell you in a few hours, when I believed I should receive
your grateful blessings, on my return to you from so many
hardships.
I will begin with my account from the last letter I wrote
you, in which I enclosed my poor stuff of verses; and
continue it at times, as I have opportunity; though, as I
said, I know not how it can reach you.
The long-hoped for Thursday morning came, when I was to
set out. I had taken my leave of my fellow-servants
overnight; 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 overwhelmed 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 would have me accept of several yards of Holland,
and a silver snuff-box, and a gold ring, which he desired me
to keep for his sake; and he wept over me; but said, I am
sure so good a maiden God will bless; and though you return
to your poor father again, and his low estate, yet
Providence will find you out: Remember I tell you so; and
one day, though 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 paper; 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.
This was lucky; for I should have had none else, but at
the pleasure of my rough-natured governess, as I may call
her; but now I can write to ease my mind, though 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 wrapped 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 cried 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, will forget that; for she seldom says her
prayers for herself: More's the pity!
Then Arthur the gardener, our Robin the coachman, 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-natured in Lincolnshire Robin, because he
knew but little of me.—But since, I find he might well be
concerned; 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 employed in the morning; and they all begged to
shake hands with me, and I kissed the maidens, and prayed to
God to bless them all; and thanked them for all their love
and kindness to 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) cried till he sobbed again. John,
poor honest 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, cried 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 wondered 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 farther by my master, and so could not
return; and I desired to be remembered 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, though 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 suffered to go with me one step, as I
writ to you before; for he stood at the window 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 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, with some plumb-cake, and diet-bread,
made for me over-night, and some sweet-meats, and six
bottles of Canary wine, which Mrs. Jervis would make me take
in a basket, to cheer our hearts now and then, when we got
together, as she said. And I kissed all the maids again, and
shook hands with the men again: but Mr. Jonathan and Mr.
Longman were not there; and then I tripped down the steps to
the chariot, Mrs. Jervis crying most sadly.
I looked up when I got to the chariot, and I saw my
master at the window, in his gown; and I courtesied three
times to him very low, and prayed for him with my hands
lifted up; for I could not speak; indeed I was not able: And
he bowed his head to me, which made me then very glad he
would take such notice of me; and in I stepped, 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 myself, and to banish the other
gloomy side from my mind; though, too, it returned now and
then; for I should be ungrateful not to love them for their
love.
Well, I believe I set out about eight o'clock in the
morning; and I wondered and wondered, when it was about two,
as I saw by a church dial, in a little village as we passed
through, 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 a little more than twenty miles, is very odd!
But to be sure, thought I, Robin knows the way.
At last he stopped, and looked about him, as if he was at
a loss for the road; 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 bay: 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 alarmed all at once, and
called 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 have new
dangers, mayhap, 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 stopped at a farmhouse, 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 befall 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
frightened 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!—Pray, mistress, said I, do you know
'Squire 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 fellow, I am 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.
Said the farmer's wife, You'll be very well used here,
I'll assure you, young gentlewoman, and have better
conveniences than any where in the village. I matter not
conveniences, said I: I am betrayed 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-behaved; and spoke to me in such sort, as made me a
little pacified; 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 called. I threw
myself on the bed in the room, tired and frightened 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. Pamela Andrews.—This was a little
better than to have him here; though, if he had, he must
have been brought through 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, though very faintish: and they
brought me two candles, and lighted a brushwood fire; and
said, if I called, I should be waited on instantly; and so
left me to ruminate on my sad condition, and to read my
letter, which I was not able to do presently. After I had a
little come to myself, I found it to contain these words:
'DEAR PAMELA,
'The passion I have for you, and your obstinacy, have
constrained 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, although 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
managed 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 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 discreet and prudent; and a happier turn shall
reward these your troubles, than you may at present
apprehend.
'Meantime I pity the fatigue you will have, if this come
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 offered to you, by
Your passionate admirer, (so I must style myself,)
'———————-'
Don't think hardly of poor Robin: You have so possessed
all my servants in your favour, that I find they had rather
serve you than me; and 'tis reluctantly the poor fellow
undertook this task; and I was forced to submit to assure
him of my honourable intentions to you, which I am fully
resolved to make good, if you compel me not to a contrary
conduct.'
I but too well apprehended that the 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 concern, I was a little more easy than before
and I made shift to eat a little bit of boiled 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 flustered;
for in came the coachman with the look of a hangman, I
thought, and madamed 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 grieved
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 delivered 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
seemed to pity me; and so I was forced to give over that
hope.
However, the good farmer shewed me his letter; which I
copied as follows: for it discovers the deep arts of this
wicked master; and how resolved he seems to be on my ruin,
by the pains he took to deprive me of all hopes of freeing
myself from his power.
'FARMER NORTON,
'I send to your house, for one night only, a young
gentlewoman, much against her will, who has deeply embarked
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, ordered her to be carried to one of my
houses, where she will be well used, 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
acknowledge any trouble you shall be at in this matter the
first opportunity; and am
'Your Friend and Servant.'
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 amiable
qualities, and so he had need!) I saw all my plot cut out,
and so was forced 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, comforting myself, that
God never fails to take the innocent heart into his
protection, and is alone able to baffle and confound the
devices of the mighty. Nay, the farmer was so prepossessed
with the contents of his letter, that he began to praise his
care and concern for me, and to advise me against
entertaining 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 believed.
I sent, however, to tell my driver, that I was so
fatigued, I could not get out so soon the next morning. 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 wished: 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 signified
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 hack.
I had contrived 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 to refuse to
go farther, having nobody but this wicked coachman to
contend with.
Well, I was very full of this project, and in great
hopes, some how or other, to extricate myself in this way.
But, oh! the artful wretch had provided for even this last
refuge 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
resolved to execute 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 desired, 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 a
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 before 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 appeared, whom I had never seen
but once before, and I was terrified 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 kissed 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 frightful! thought I; here's an
avowal of the matter 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 forced to set out with her in the chariot for she came
thither on horseback, with a man-servant, who rode by us the
rest of the way, leading 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 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 resolved to confide.
You may see—(Yet, oh! that kills me; for I know not
whether ever you can see what I now write or no—Else you
will see)—what sort of woman that Mrs. Jewkes is, compared
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 offered 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 kissed by the other sex? 'I
fackins, I commend thee for that!
I was sadly teased with her impertinence, and bold way;
but no wonder; she was innkeeper's housekeeper, 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 cheeks, I was sorely hurt, truly, to have
the handsomest and finest young gentleman in five counties
in love with me!
So I find I am got into the hands of a wicked procuress;
and if I was not safe with good Mrs. Jervis, and where every
body loved 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 entered 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 mulled wine, and seemed 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 asked the poor creature's
pardon, and wiped his mouth, as you do, and pleaded his
duty, and then calmly tucked 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 command, I had
saved 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 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 carried to my father's, and that I was
barbarously tricked and betrayed; and I can only, once more,
thank you for your part of it. God forgive 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 choose whether you'll contribute to my
ruin or not.—Why, look ye, madam, said she, I have a great
notion of doing my duty to my master; and therefore you may
depend 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 turned out of place.
Ay, ay, says she, I understand something of the matter;
you have so great power over my master, that you may soon be
mistress of us all; and so I 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 so to do? 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 unlawful or
wicked thing, for any master in the world. Look ye, said
she, he is my master; and if he bids me do any thing that I
can do, I think I ought to do it; and let him, who has his
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 hanged! 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 laughing, and talked most impertinently,
and shewed me, that I had nothing to expect from her virtue
or conscience: and this gave me great mortification; 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 wholesome, 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 beloved 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; though 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 pretended
to sit by the window, which looks into the spacious gardens;
but I was writing all the 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
resolved, if possible, to find some way to escape, before
this wicked master comes.
There are, besides, of servants, the coachman, Robert, a
groom, a helper, a footman; all but Robert, (and he is
accessary to my ruin,) strange creatures, 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 reserved.
I wondered I saw not Mr. Williams the clergyman, but
would not ask after him, apprehending it might give 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 confirmed myself in my hopes of him; for he seemed to
take great notice of my distress and grief; (for I could not
hide it;) though he appeared fearful of Mrs. Jewkes, who
watched all our motions and words.
He has an apartment in the house; but is mostly at a
lodging in the town, for a conveniency of his little school;
only on Saturday afternoon and Sundays: and he preaches
sometimes for the minister of the village, which is about
three miles off.
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 asked her, for a feint, (because she shan't think
I am so well provided,) to indulge me with pen and ink,
though I have been using my own so freely when her absence
would let me; for I begged 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 seeing it. I said, it was only to divert my grief when I
was by myself, as I desired to be; for I loved writing as
well as reading; 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 instructions 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:
And below is my master's library: you may take out what
books you will.
And, indeed, these and my writing will be all my
amusement: for I have no work given me to do; and the
spinnet, if in tune, will not find my mind, I am sure, in
tune to play upon it. But I went directly and picked out
some books from the library, with which I filled a shelf in
the closet she gave me possession of; and from these I hope
to receive improvement, as well as amusement. But no sooner
was her back turned, than I set about hiding a pen of my own
here, and another there, for fear I should come to be
denied, 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 of the wax, and a few wafers,
in several places, lest I should be searched; and something,
I thought, might happen to open a 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 diversion 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, though 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 be sent: For what I do, must be at a jerk, 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 denied by this barbarous
woman to go to church, as I had built upon I might: and she
has huffed poor Mr. Williams all to pieces, for pleading for
me. I find he is to be forbid the house, if she pleases.
Poor gentleman! all his dependance 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.
He pays me great respect, and I see pities me; and would,
perhaps, assist my escape from these dangers: 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!) of my
distracted condition, to be reduced to such a pass as to a
desire to lay traps for mankind! But he wants sadly to say
something to me, as he whisperingly 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
trifles.—I say, walk with you! and where would you go, I
tro'? Why, barbarous Mrs. Jewkes, said I, only to look a
little up the elm-walk, since 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.—Indeed 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 frighted at this, that I have not power even
to relieve my mind by my tears. I am quite stupefied to be
sure!—Here I was forced to leave off.
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 down 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 saltpetre: I dare
say she drinks:—She has a hoarse, man-like voice, and is as
thick as she is 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 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 downright.
I shall be watched 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 father and mother.
Oh! I am 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!—Alas! 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 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 come
to take up my pen again: But I am in a sad taking truly!
Another puzzling trial, to be sure.
Here was John, as I said, and the poor man came to me,
with Mrs. Jewkes, who whispered, that I would say nothing
about the shoes, for my own sake, as she said. The poor man
saw my distress, by my red eyes, and my hagged looks, I
suppose; for I have had a sad time of it, you must needs
think; and though he would have hid it, if he could, yet his
own 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 obliged 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 sobbed.—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 to 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, I hope, see
this. No, no, said she, I see whose it is, well enough; or
else, may be, I must have insisted on reading 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 longed to
say more; only that nasty Mrs. Jewkes.
So I went up, and locked myself in my closet, and opened
the letter; and this is a copy of it:
'My DEAREST PAMELA,
'I send purposely to you on an affair that concerns you
very much, and me somewhat, 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 honest
friends: and all my pleasure is, that I can and will make
you amends for the disturbance I have given you. As I
promised, I sent to your father the day after your
departure, that he might not be too much concerned for you,
and assured him of my honour to you; and made an excuse,
such an one as ought to have satisfied 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.
'O my dear girl! what trouble has not your obstinacy
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 touched with too fatal a 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 possessed you.
'After what is done, and which cannot now be helped, but
which, I assure you, shall turn out honourably for you, I
expect not to be refused; because 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 impossible
for me to send it, or that it should answer the good end I
propose by it.
'I have promised, 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,
although it is a difficulty upon me. Nor shall your
restraint last long: for I will assure you, that I am
resolved very soon to convince you of my good intentions,
and with what ardour I am
'Yours, etc.'
The letter he prescribed for me was as this:
'DEAR Mrs. JERVIS,
'I have, instead of being driven by Robin to my dear
father's, been carried off, where I have no liberty to tell.
However, at present, I am not used 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 honest, as
well as dutiful daughter, and 'Your obliged friend.'
'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
resolved to write, and pretty much in the above form, that
it might be sent to pacify you, till I could let you,
somehow or other, know the true state of the matter. And I
wrote thus to my strange wicked master himself:
'SIR,
'If you knew but the anguish of my mind, and how much I
suffer by your dreadful usage of me, you would surely pity
me, and consent 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 passed, upon your solemn
assurances.—It is impossible they should be consistent with
the dishonourable methods you take.
'Nothing but your promise of not seeing me here in my
deplorable bondage, can give me the least ray of hope.
'Don't, I beseech you, drive the poor distressed Pamela
upon a rock, that may be the destruction both of her soul
and body! You don't know, sir, how dreadfully I dare, weak
as I am of mind and intellect, when my virtue is in danger.
And, O! hasten my deliverance, that a poor unworthy
creature, below the notice of such a gentleman as you, may
not be made the sport of a high condition, for no reason in
the world, but because she is not able to defend 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 poverty, one would think, should
screen them from violences of this sort, as well as their
poor daughter, followed pretty much the form you have
prescribed for me, in the letter to Mrs. Jervis; and the
alterations I have made (for I could not help a few) are of
such a nature, as, though they shew my concern a little, yet
must answer the end you are pleased to say you propose by
this letter.
'For God's sake, good sir, pity my lowly condition, 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
'PAMELA.'
I thought, when I had written this letter, and that which
he had prescribed, it would look like placing a confidence
in Mrs. Jewkes, to shew them to her; and I shewed her, at
the same time, my master's letter to me; for I believed the
value he expressed for me, would give me credit with one who
professed in every thing to serve him, right or wrong;
though I had so little reason, I fear, to pride myself in
it: and I was not mistaken; for it has seemed 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,
because she praises as much the author of my miseries, and
his honourable intentions, as she calls them; for I see,
that she is capable of thinking, as I fear he does, that
every thing that makes for his wicked will is honourable,
though to the ruin of the innocent. Pray God I may find it
otherwise! Though, I hope, whatever the wicked gentleman may
intend, that I shall be at last rid of her impertinent bold
way of talk, when she seems to think, from his letter, that
he means honourably.
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, before 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 loved me; and
so she brought up a message to me from him this morning that
he was going. I desired he might come up to my closet, as I
called it, and she came with him. The honest man, as I
thought him, was as full of concern as before, at taking
leave and I gave him two letters, the one for Mrs. Jervis,
enclosed in another for my master: but Mrs. Jewkes would see
me seal them up, lest I should enclose any thing else.—I was
surprised, 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 being observed by Mrs. Jewkes: but I was a thousand
times more surprised, when I returned to my closet, and
opening it read as follows:
'GOOD MRS. PAMELA,
'I am grieved to tell you how much you have been deceived
and betrayed, 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 shewed
your letters to my master: He employed me for that purpose;
and he saw every one, before I carried them to your father
and mother; and then scaled them up, and sent me with them.
I had some business that way, but not half so often as I
pretended: and as soon as I heard how it was, 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 ruined, I am the rogue that caused 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. Howsomever, 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 abandoned wretch of wretches. 'J.
ARNOLD.'
'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
myself. 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 so much of himself, that I will only sit down
with this sad reflection, That power and riches never want
tools to promote their vilest ends, and there is nothing so
hard to be known as the heart of man:—I can but pity the
poor wretch, since he seems to have great remorse, and I
believe it best to keep his wickedness secret. If it lies in
my way, I will 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 clothes and things my lady
and master had given me, and moreover 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 closet,
and she shewed me what was in it; but then locked 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 confident woman put it in her
pocket.
I gave myself over to sad reflections upon this strange
and surprising discovery of John's, and wept much for him,
and for myself too; for now I see, as he says, my ruin has
been long hatching, that I can make no doubt what my
master's honourable professions will end in. What a heap of
hard names does the poor fellow call himself! But what must
they deserve, then, 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 all innocent; and to
carry on a poor plot, I am sure for a gentleman, to ruin a
poor creature, who never did him harm, nor wished him any;
and who can still pray for his happiness, and his
repentance?
I can't 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 for him?—If he loves me, as 'tis falsely
called, must he therefore lay traps for me, to ruin me and
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 harlot? And must he be more
earnest to seduce me, because I dread of all things to be
seduced, and would rather lose my 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!—his naughty master could run away from me, when he
apprehended his servants might discover his vile attempts
upon me 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 base plotting heart of his, in its most
secret motions, could not be hid?—But what avail me these
sorrowful reflections? He is and will be wicked, and designs
me a victim to his lawless attempts, if the God in whom I
trust, and to whom I hourly pray, prevent it not.
Tuesday and Wednesday.
I have been hindered by this wicked woman's watching me
so 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 took a walk with us
once; and while her back was just turned, (encouraged by the
hint he had before given me,) I said, Sir, I see two tiles
upon that parsley-bed; might not one cover them with mould,
with a note between them, on occasion?—A good hint, said he;
let that sunflower by the back-door of the garden be the
place; I have a key to the door; for it is my nearest way to
the town.
So I was forced to begin. O what inventions will
necessity push us upon! I hugged myself at the thought; and
she coming to us, he said, as if he was continuing a
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, it is not; it is a poor town, to my thinking. Are there
any gentry in it? said I. And so we chatted 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 tufted 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 none who have
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, turned
the discourse to a general subject. I sauntered 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, Mrs. Jewkes, (putting what I was about in my bosom:)
You know I have written two letters, and sent them by John.
(O how his name, poor guilty fellow, 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 cover,
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 tried to recollect, and had written purposely that she
might see, and think me usually employed 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 a
hundred eyes, and was set to watch with them all, as she
does.
She brought me the paper, and said, Now, madam, let me
see you write something. I will, said I; and took the pen
and wrote, 'I wish Mrs. Jewkes would be so 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 how far to blame, or to 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 employed myself, as I said, to no better
purpose at other times: for she will have it, that I am upon
some plot, I am so silent, and love so much to be by
myself.—She would have made me write on a little further.
No, said I; you have not answered 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 yourself 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 explain his own
meaning:—I'll send him word to come and 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 would'st, than say
such another word!—But I hope there is no such 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, I would not be long
away. What means the woman? 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. It
is out of his power, said I, to make me happy, great and
rich as he is! but by leaving me innocent, and giving me
liberty to go to my dear father and mother.
She went away soon after, and I ended my letter, in hopes
to have an opportunity to lay it in the appointed place. So
I went to her, and said; I suppose, as it is not dark, I may
take another turn in the garden. It is 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 maid following me, and
dropt purposely my hussy: and when I came near the tiles, I
said, Mrs. Anne, I have dropt my hussy; be so kind as to
look for it; I had it by the pond side. She went back to
look, and I slipt the note between the tiles, and covered
them as quick as I could with the light mould, quite
unperceived; and the maid finding the hussy, I took it, and
sauntered in again, and met Mrs. Jewkes coming to see after
me. What I wrote was this:
'REVEREND SIR,
'The want of an opportunity to speak my mind to you, I am
sure will excuse this boldness in a poor creature that is
betrayed hither, I have reason to think, for the worst of
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. It is true he
promises honour, and all that; but the honour of the wicked
is disgrace and shame to the virtuous: And he may think he
keeps his promises, according to the notions he may allow
himself to hold; and yet, according to nine and every good
body's, 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, I throw myself at once upon your
goodness, without 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 the body and soul of a poor
wretch, that, believe me, sir, has, at present, not so much
as in thought swerved from her innocence.
'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 neighbourhood, to whom I may fly, only till l
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? If he comes, it must be to ruin me; and come to be
sure he will, when he thinks he has silenced 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 honesty. If I stay till
he comes, 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 loath to have you suffer for me! I say no more,
but commit this to the happy tiles, in the bosom of that
earth, where, 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 hereafter: As shall
ever pray, 'Your oppressed humble servant.'
Thursday.
This completes a terrible 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! It is very true!—And thus it came about:
My impatience was great to walk in the garden, to see if
any thing had offered, answerable to my hopes. But this
wicked Mrs. Jewkes would not let me go without her; and
said, she was not at leisure. We had a great many words
about it; for I told her, it was very hard I could not be
trusted to walk by myself in the garden for a little air,
but must be dogged and watched worse than a thief.
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 remember, added 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 feared, by that hint, she
had seen my letter under the tiles: O how uneasy I was! At
last she said, Well, since you take on so, you may take a
turn, and I will be with you in a minute.
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 farther, 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 the foolish often calls me,) if I was in his
place, he should not have his property in you long
questionable. 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, Jezebel, 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 surprised, (for you never beat me, my dear
father and mother, in your lives,) that I was like one
thunder-struck; and looked round, as if I wanted somebody to
help me; but, alas! I had nobody; and said, at last, rubbing
my shoulder, Is this also in your instructions?—Alas! for
me! am I to be beaten too? And so fell a crying, and threw
myself upon the grass-walk we were upon.—Said she, in a
great pet, I won't be called such names, I'll assure you.
Marry come up! I see you have a spirit: You must and shall
be kept under. I'll manage such little provoking things as
you, I warrant ye! Come, come, we'll go in a'doors, and I'll
lock you up, and you shall have no shoes, nor any thing
else, if this be the case.
I did not know what to do. This was a cruel thing to me,
and I blamed myself for my free speech; for now I have given
her some pretence: and O! thought I, here I have, by my
malapertness, ruined 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 walked, 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 a'doors!—I'll Jezebel you, I will so!—Why, dear Mrs.
Jewkes, said 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 blamed 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 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 muttered 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
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 seemed 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 let you stir without 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,
returned she; and that's the reason: so you ought to bear
it. I say, love! replied 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 am sure: and I'll send her,
and you shall take another walk in the garden, if you will:
May be it will get you a stomach to your dinner: for you
don't eat enough to keep life and soul together. 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 hope to find some
opportunity now to come at my sunflower. But I walked the
other way, to take that in my return, to avoid suspicion.
I forced my discourse to the maid; 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 frightened, madam, 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 stooped
to smell at the sunflower, and a great nasty worm ran into
the ground, that startled me; for I can't abide worms. Said
she, Sunflowers don't smell. So I find, replied I. And then
we walked in; and Mrs. Jewkes said; Well, you have made
haste now.—You shall go another time.
I went up to my closet, locked myself in, and opening my
letter, found in it these words:
'I am infinitely concerned 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 dependance is
upon Mr. B——, and I have a near view of being provided for
by his favour to me. But yet I would sooner forfeit all my
hopes in him, (trusting in God for the rest,) than not
assist you, if possible. I never looked upon Mr. B—— in the
light he now appears in to me, in your case. To be sure, he
is no professed debauchee. But I am entirely 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 believe. 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 Darnford, if
they'll permit you to take refuge with them. I see no
probability of keeping myself concealed in this matter; but
will, as I said, risk all things to serve you; for I never
saw a sweetness and innocence like yours; and your hard case
has attached me entirely to you; for I know, as you so
happily express, if I can serve you in this case, I shall
thereby perform 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 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; but, I think, greatly short of what you deserve,
both as to person and mind: 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 enlarge, any further than to assure you that
I am, to the best of my power,
'Your faithful friend and servant,
'ARTHUR WILLIAMS.'
'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, in answer to this pleasing letter, wrote as
follows:
'REVEREND SIR,
'O how suited 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 to have you suffer
on my account: but I hope it will be made up to you an
hundred-fold, by that God whom you so faithfully 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 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 should 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 dependance 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, suppose, sir, you get one made by it, and put it,
the next opportunity, under the sunflower?—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 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 to be known. Torture should not wring
it from me, I assure you.
'One thing more, good sir. Have you no correspondence
with my master's Bedfordshire family? By that means, may be,
I could be informed of his intention of coming hither, and
when I enclose you a letter of a deceitful wretch; for I can
trust you with any thing; poor John Arnold. Its contents
will tell why I enclose it. Perhaps by his means, something
may be discovered; for he seems willing to atone for his
treachery to me, by the intimation of future service. I
leave the hint to you to improve upon, and am,
'Reverend Sir,
'Your for ever obliged, and thankful servant.'
'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 the
charge of a man and horse, or any other incidents?'
I had but just time 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 opportunity to lay it in
the dear place.
O good sirs, of all the flowers in the garden, the
sunflower, sure, is the loveliest!—It is a propitious one to
me! How nobly my plot succeeds! But I begin to be afraid my
writings may be discovered; 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 promised me. She baited the hook, and I held
it, and soon hooked a lovely carp. Play it, 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 pleasure it seemed to have, to flounce in,
when at liberty!—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 betrayed; 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 liberty in the same manner; for to be sure, I
think my danger equal!
Lord bless thee! said she, what a thought is there!—Well,
I can angle no more, added I. I'll try my fortune, said she,
and took the rod. Do, answered I; and I will plant life, if
I can, while you are destroying it. I have some horse-beans
here, and will go and stick them in 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 sunflower; and easily deposited my letter. And not a
little proud am I of this contrivance. Sure something will
do at last!
Friday, Saturday.
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, replied I: How much will do?
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 laughed, 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
occasion have you for money? To tell you the truth, lambkin,
I didn't want it. I only feared 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, nor 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 cried
for vexation.—And now I have not five shillings 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 your instructions, 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; I cannot bear you!—But I durst not call her
names again; for I dread her 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 enclosed for 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
choose—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 desired her to read the
rest. No, no, said she, but I won't. Said I, Are there any
orders for taking my shoes away, and for beating me? No,
said she, nor about Jezebel neither. Well, returned 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:
'MY DEAR PAMELA,
'I begin to repent already, that I have bound myself, 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
generosity 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 interest in your health, not to wish to shorten
the time of this trial; 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
utterance; a grief that a little alarmed my tenderness 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 upon 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 entirely 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,
'Your faithful and affectionate, etc.'
'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.'
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 called it, in Mrs.
Jewkes's company: and walking by the place, I said, Do you
think, Mrs. Jewkes, any of my beans can have struck since
yesterday? She laughed, and said, You are a poor gardener:
but I love to see you divert yourself. She passing on, I
found my good friend had provided 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 has not
stirred. No, to be sure, said she, and turned upon me a most
wicked jest, unbecoming the mouth of a woman, about
planting, etc. When I came in, I hied 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 applied to Lady
Darnford, and told her in the most pathetic manner I could,
your sad story, and shewed her your more pathetic letter. I
found her well disposed, but she would advise with Sir
Simon, who by the by is not a man of an 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 mother, it seems that poor people's
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 determined a
manner, that the lady had done; and I had only to beg no
notice should be taken of the matter as from me.
'I have hinted your case to Mr. Peters, the minister of
this parish; but I am concerned 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 function, and the like, and protested my
disinterestedness, he coldly said, I was very good; but was
a young man, and knew little of the world. And though it was
a thing to be lamented, yet when he and I should 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 uttered some reflections upon the conduct
of the present fathers of the church, in regard to the first
personages of the realm, as a justification of his coldness
on this score.
'I represented the different circumstances of your
affair; that other women lived evilly by their own consent,
but to serve you, was to save an innocence that had but few
examples; and then I shewed him your letter.
'He said it was prettily written: and he was sorry for
you; and that your good intentions ought to be encouraged:
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 embroil 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 terns enough; for he is no
covetous nor wicked gentleman, except in this case; and 'tis
what all young gentlemen will do.
'I am greatly concerned for him, I assure you: but I am
not discouraged 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 packets, 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 promised me. I have almost a scruple to take it,
as I am acting so contrary to his desires: but I hope he
will 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 myself, 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,
'Your faithful friend, etc.'
I made a thousand sad reflections upon the former 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 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 with the distresses of others. I
recalled my former hint as to writing to Lady Davers, which
I feared, I said, would only serve to apprise 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
determined on my ruin; besides that it might make Mr.
Williams guessed at, as a means of conveying my letter: And
being very fearful, that if that good lady would interest
herself in my behalf, (which was a doubt, because she both
loved and feared 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
opinion no time was to be lost; for we might let slip all
our opportunities; telling him the money trick of this vile
woman, etc.
I had not time to take a copy of this letter, I was so
watched. And when I had it ready in my bosom, 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 received 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 walked 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 down, and hoped she used 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 land 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 and honourable: 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, though it was all I
feared of a long time; 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
contrary; 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 apprehensions, as you do.
No, replied I, an hour of innocence is worth an age of
guilt; and were my 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 a pretence to come down.
How can it go?
I'll take care of that, said she; it is in my
instructions.—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 turned 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 smiled, I suppose at my foolishness; and I
popped the letter under the mould, and stepped back, as if
waiting for his return; which, being near, was immediate;
and she followed him. What should I do with beans? said
she,—and sadly scared me; for she whispered me, I am afraid
of some fetch! You don't use to send on 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 though
you are as innocent as a dove, yet you are as cunning as a
serpent. But I'll forgive you, if you cheat me.
Then I thought of my money, and could have called her
names, had I dared: And I said, Pray Mrs. Jewkes, now you
talk of forgiving me, if I cheat you, be so kind as to pay
me my money; for though 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 walked in, and I went up to write my letter to
my master; and, as I intended to shew it her, I resolved 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, (though the most agreeable thing that could
have befallen me, except my escape from hence,) nor indeed
any thing he said. For to be honourable, in the just sense
of the word, he need not have caused me to be run away with,
and confined as I am. I wrote as follows:
'HONOURED SIR,
'When I consider how easily you might make me happy, since
all I desire is to be permitted to go to my poor father and
mother; when I reflect upon your former proposal 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 freedom; 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 hopes 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 desperate, 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 loath to behave to my master
unbecomingly; 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 watched, and attended, hindered 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
expostulate 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 seeing you, I cannot bear the dreadful
apprehension. Whatever you have to propose, whatever you
intend by me, let my assent be that of a free person, mean
as I am, and not of a sordid slave, who is to be threatened
and frightened into a compliance with measures, which your
conduct to her seems to imply would be otherwise abhorred 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
'Your greatly oppressed unhappy servant.'
After I had taken a copy of this, I folded it up; and
Mrs. Jewkes, coming 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 advice, 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, replied she. So I read it to her, and she praised me
much for my wording it; but said she thought I pushed the
matter very close; and it would better bear talking of, than
writing about. She wanted an explanation or two, as about
the proposal to a certain person; but I said, she must take
it as she heard it. Well, well, said she, I make no doubt
you understand one another, and will do so more and more. I
sealed 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 despised my
sufferings, would have given me great regret and sorrow; and
it was impossible I should have edified under any doctrine
preached by Mr. Peters: So I applied myself to my private
devotions.
Mr. Williams came yesterday, and this day, as usual, and
took my letter; but, having no good opportunity, we avoided
one another's conversation, and kept at a distance: But I
was concerned I had not the key; for I would not have lost a
moment in that case, had I been he, and he I. When I was at
my devotion, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and wanted me sadly to
sing her a psalm, as she had often on common days importuned
me for a song upon the spinnet: but I declined it, because
my spirits were so low I could hardly speak, nor cared to be
spoken to; but when she was gone, I remembering the
cxxxviith psalm to be a little touching, turned to it, and
took the liberty to alter it, somewhat nearer to my case. I
hope I did not sin in it; but thus I turned it:
I.
When sad I sat in B——n Hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev'ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
III.
Then she to whom I pris'ner was,
Said to me, tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song
And tune your mind to joy.
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall'd
By such a wicked thing!
V.
But yet, if from my innocence
I, ev'n in thought, should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
VI.
And let my tongue within my mouth
Be lock'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv'rance past.
VII.
And thou, Almighty, recompense
The evils I endure,
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When, with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
IX.
Ev'n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought,
And happy shall all those be call'd
That my deliv'rance wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be called
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the D—-l.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
I write now with a little more liking, though 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 uselessly employed: and I am
delivered besides, from the fear of their being found, if I
should be searched, or discovered. I have been permitted to
take an airing, five or six miles, with Mrs. Jewkes: But,
though I know not the reason, she watches me more closely
than ever; so that we have discontinued, by consent, for
these three days, the sunflower 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
opportunity 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 opportunity to hint to me.
He just now has signified, 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 wished him 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 looked at
me with such respect and solemness 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 touched
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, instead 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 parents, 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 husband; and as he will owe all his
fortune to my master, he will be very glad, to be sure, to
be obliged to him for a wife of his choosing: 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 surmise 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 approved 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 bringing such an affair
to effect. I told her I abhorred 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, I
said 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 abandoned me: I shall be
under no necessity to make advances to Mr. Williams, if I
was (as I am sure I am not) disposed 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
veneration for you, and so entire my reliance on Providence,
upon 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
conduct you. I refer myself wholly to your goodness and
direction; and am, with the highest respect,
'Your most faithful humble servant.'
'Don't think this a sudden resolution. I always admired
your hear-say character; and the moment I saw you, wished 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, methinks,
hear of being a wife.—After a thousand different thoughts, I
wrote as follows:
'REVEREND SIR,
'I am greatly confused at the contents of your last. You are
much too generous, and I can't bear you should risk 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
proposal. 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 are, in such a weighty point, are as much
entitled 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 shall always bind
me to be 'Your most obliged servant.'
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, the 14th, 15th, and 16th, of
my bondage.
Mrs. Jewkes has received a letter, and is much civiller
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 pleased with 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 though I have not come so readily as he hoped into his
scheme, yet his diligence shall not be slackened, and he
will leave it to Providence and himself to dispose of him as
he shall be found to deserve. He has signified to me, that
he shall soon send a special messenger with the packet to
you, and I have added to it what has occurred since.
Sunday.
I am just now quite astonished!—I hope all is right!—but
I have a strange turn to acquaint you with. Mr. Williams and
Mrs. Jewkes came to me 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, puffing 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 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 surprised me, that I cannot stand, nor
hear, nor read! Why did you come up in such a manner to
attack such weak spirits? said he, to Mrs. Jewkes, Shall we
leave our letters with Mrs. Pamela, and let her recover from
her surprise? 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 surprise, so that I
could not presently read them, notwithstanding my
impatience; but, after a while, recovering, I found the
contents thus strange and unexpected:
'MR. WILLIAMS,
'The death of Mr. Fownes has now given me the opportunity 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
received, of one of the loveliest wives in England. She has
not been used (as she has reason to think) according 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
accustomed, I am persuaded she will forgive those seeming
hardships which have paved 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, entirely 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 your humble servant.'
Was ever the like heard?—Lie still, my throbbing heart,
divided as thou art, between thy hopes and thy fears!—But
this is the letter Mrs. Jewkes left with me:
'MRS. JEWKES,
'You have been very careful and diligent in the task, which,
for reasons I shall hereafter explain, I had imposed 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 disagreeable to either,
you assure them both, that they are at entire 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 'Your friend, etc.'
I had hardly time to transcribe these letters, though,
writing so much, I write pretty fast, before they both came
up again in high spirits; and Mr. Williams said, I am glad
at my heart, madam, that I was beforehand 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 mistrustful!—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.
I doubted not her taking hold of his joyful
indiscretion.—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 goodness in the living.—It will be dying,
said he, not a living, without you.—Forbear, sir, said I;
while I have a father and mother, I am not my own mistress,
poor as they are; and I'll see myself quite at liberty,
before I shall think myself 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, though 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 myself; and am almost an infidel as to
mankind. But I hope I may be wrong; henceforth, Mrs. Jewkes,
you shall regulate 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, though 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,
especially before this woman. Forgive me, sir; they talk of
women's promptness of speech; but, indeed, I see an honest
heart is not always to be trusted with itself in bad
company.
He was going to reply, but though 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 show you
the way to church to-morrow. I was glad of this, because,
though in my present doubtful situation I should not have
chosen it, yet I would have encouraged 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 helped 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
confirmed 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 earnest: and then again, though 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 pulled out her key,
and we walked 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
sunflower, but I was forced to be very reserved to him; for
the poor gentleman has no guard, no caution at all.
We have just supped together, all three: and I cannot yet
think that all must be right.—Only I am resolved not to
marry, if I can help it; and I will give no encouragement, I
am resolved, at least, till I am with you.
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 l desire you will
send no answer, till I have the pleasure and happiness which
now I hope for soon, of seeing you. He will, in sending my
packet, 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,
Your ever dutiful DAUGHTER.
MY DEAR FATHER AND MOTHER,
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 be by myself; I said, Yes,
with all my heart, if she pleased. Well, said she, after
to-night you shall. I asked her for more paper; and she gave
me a 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 pressed me, when she came to bed, very much, to give
encouragement to Mr. Williams, and said many things in his
behalf; and blamed my shyness to him. I told her, I was
resolved to give no encouragement, till I had talked to my
father and mother. She said, he fancied I thought of
somebody else, or I could never be so insensible. I assured
her, as I could do very safely, that there was not a man on
earth I wished to have: and as to Mr. Williams, he might do
better by far: and I had proposed 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 tried
that. I asked her for my money; and she said, it was above
in her strong box, but that I should have it to-morrow. All
these things look well, as I said.
Mr. Williams would go home this night, though late,
because he would despatch a messenger to you with a letter
he had proposed from himself, and my packet. 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;
though, to be sure, he is a very good man, and I am much
obliged 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 saved my papers. This is
the account he gives of it to Mrs. Jewkes:
'GOOD 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 fellows got hold of me, and swore
bitterly they would kill me, if I did not give them what I
had. They rummaged my pockets, and took from me my
snuff-box, my seal-ring, and half a guinea, and some silver,
and halfpence; also my handkerchief, and two or three
letters I had in my pockets. By good fortune, the letter
Mrs. Pamela gave me was in my bosom, and so that escaped but
they bruised my head and face, and cursing me for having no
more money, tipped me into the dam, crying, be there,
parson, till to-morrow! My shins and knees were bruised much
in the fall against one of the stumps; and I had like to
have been suffocated in water and mud. To be sure, I shan't
be able to stir out this day or two: for I am a frightful
spectacle! My hat and wig I was forced 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 dropped. My cassock is sadly torn, as is my
band. To be sure, I was much frightened, for a robbery in
these parts has not been known many years. Diligent search
is making after the rogues. My humble 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, though 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,
'Your most obliged humble servant.'
'God be praised it is no worse! And I find I have got no
cold, though 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 say all I hope, with regard to the better
part of his bounty to me, incomparable Mrs. Pamela.'
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 looked, 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
tattered band and cassock, and without a hat and wig, when
he got home. I warrant, added she, he was in a sweet
pickle!—I said, I thought it was very barbarous to laugh at
such a misfortune; but she replied, As he was safe, she
laughed; otherwise she would have been sorry: and she was
glad to see me so concerned for him—It looked promising, she
said.
I heeded not her reflections; 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 missed my packet! I knew not what
to think of it!—But why should I let every accident break my
peace? 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 officious 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 nobody 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 necessaries or lodgings. But I'll go into the
garden, 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 watched; 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 again, and ventured to open the door, and went
out about a bow-shot 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 protection, 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; 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 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 nobody 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 to 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 preserver of the innocent! direct me what to do!
Well, I have just now a sort of strange persuasion upon
me, that I ought to try to get way, 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
gardener 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! frightened, 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
master in one bull, and Mrs. Jewkes's in the other. And now
I am gone, to be sure! O help! cried I, like a fool, and ran
back to the door, as swift as if I flew. When I had got the
door in my hand, I ventured 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 every thing is so frightful
to me, I find I am not fit to think of my escape: for I
shall be as much frightened 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 lie at my tongue's end,) said I; Though
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 myself. Ay, said the ideot, she is main good
company, 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 tried with such dangers, 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;
though I fell not into their hands myself, yet they gave me
as much terror, and had as great an effect upon my fears, as
if I had: And here is the bull; it has as effectually
frightened me, as if I had been hurt by it instead of the
cook-maid; and so these joined together, as I may say, to
make a very dastard of me. But my folly was the worst of
all, because that deprived me of my money: for had I had
that, I believe I should have ventured both the bull and the
robbers.
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 bad as
he fancied. 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 grappling 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 ail any thing. He says in
his letter, he was a frightful 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, to
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 alarmed 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. 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
disposed, 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
owned 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; because my watchments are now over, by
my master's direction. How have you employed yourself in my
absence?
I was so troubled at what might have passed between Mr.
Williams and her, that I could not hide it; and she said,
Well, Mrs. Pamela, since all matters are likely to be so
soon and so happily ended, let me advise you to be a little
less concerned at his discoveries; and make me your
confidant, 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 matters, 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 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 ha'n'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, etc. which, had he
communicated to her, she would not have forborne 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; though she pretended she had given
me up all her stores of papers, etc. and that I should write
for her. I begin to wish I had ventured 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 mother: 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 incautious 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 suspicious
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 bed-fellow, till you are sure of one you like
better. This cut me to the heart; and, at the same time,
stopped my mouth.
Tuesday, Wednesday.
Mr. Williams has been here; but we have had no
opportunity to talk together: He seemed confounded at Mrs.
Jewkes's change of temper, and reservedness, after her kind
visit, and their freedom 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 somehow disobliged you. Not at all, replied
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 alarmed us both; and he seemed quite
struck of a 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 paper, 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.
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: begged to know what he had said; and
intimated, that I thought there was the highest reason to
resume our prospect 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:
'DEAREST MADAM,
'I am utterly confounded, and must plead guilty to all your
just reproaches. I wish I were master of all 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
importance: For I think Mr. B—— neither can nor dare deceive
me in so black a manner. I would expose 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: 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: and 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
ordered 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 myself; for I can never do either God or myself better
service, though I were to forego all my expectations for it
here, I am 'Your most faithful humble servant.'
'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 hinted, 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 assured her, though she would hardly believe me,
that you discouraged my application: which is too true! But
not a word of the back-door key, etc.'
Mrs. Jewkes continues still sullen and ill-natured, 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.
I have just put under the tiles these lines inspired by
my fears, which are indeed very strong; and, I doubt, not
without reason.
'SIR,
'Every thing gives me additional disturbance. The missed
letter of John Arnold's makes me suspect a plot. Yet am I
loath 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 honesty, 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 importance with the soul of a princess;
though my quality is inferior to that of the meanest slave.
'Save then my innocence, good Heaven! and preserve 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 sullenness and silence, without any
apparent reason, from a conduct so very contrary, bid me
fear the worst.—blame me, sir, if you think me wrong; and
let me have your advice what to do; which will oblige
'Your most afflicted servant.'
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, enclosed.
'MADAM,
'I think you are too apprehensive by much; I am sorry for
your uneasiness. You may depend upon me, and all I can do.
But I make no doubt of the London journey, nor of John's
contrition 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 desert such piety and innocence: and be
this your comfort and reliance: Which is the best advice
that can at present be given, by
'Your most faithful humble servant.'
N. B. The father's letter was as follows:

'My DEAREST DAUGHTER,
'Our prayers are at length heard, and we are overwhelmed
with joy. O what sufferings, what trials, hast thou gone
through! Blessed be the Divine goodness, which has enabled
thee to withstand so many temptations! We have not yet had
leisure to read through your long accounts of all your
hardships. I say long, because I wonder 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 discreet a daughter. How happy
is our lot in the midst of our poverty! O let none ever
think children a burden to them; when the poorest
circumstances 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 through all yours in course. We
were too impatient, and so turned to the end; where we find
your virtue within view of its reward, and your master's
heart turned 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 ruined you, if he could. But seeing your virtue,
his heart is touched; and he has, no doubt, been awakened by
your good example.
'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 though 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, you had
rather not marry at present, far be it from us to offer
violence to your inclination! So much prudence as you have
shewn in all your conduct, would make it very wrong in us to
mistrust it in this, or to offer to direct you in your
choice. Rut, 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 your afflictions. But it
will be 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 'Your most indulgent
parents. Amen!'
'Our humblest service and thanks to the worthy 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 overclouded,
to what they were when I closed my last parcel!—More trials,
more dangers, I fear, must your poor Pamela be engaged in:
But through 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 somehow 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 humour 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 returned, The
less, the better. Poor man! he has got but little by his
openness, making Mrs. Jewkes his confidant, as she bragged,
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.
Still more and more strange things to write! A messenger
is returned, and now all is out! O wretched, wretched
Pamela! What, at last, will become 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-looked-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 opened it, it
began, Mrs. Jewkes. I was quite confounded; but, thought I,
this may be a lucky mistake; I may discover something: And
so I read on these horrid contents:
'MRS. JEWKES,
'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 prevent
her escape. I send this by an honest Swiss, who attended me
in my travels; a man I 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
favoured 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
ordered Mr. Shorter, my attorney, to throw him instantly
into gaol, 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 designed her any mischief; and when, if
he had been guided by a sense of piety, or compassion for
injured innocence, as he pretends, he would have
expostulated with me, as his function, and my friendship for
him, might have allowed him. But to enter into a vile
intrigue with the amiable gewgaw, to favour her escape in so
base a manner, (to say nothing of his disgraceful practices
against me, in Sir Simon Darnford's family, of which Sir
Simon himself has informed me), is a conduct that, instead
of preferring the ungrateful 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 declaration,
I believe it not. It is certain the speaking picture, with
all that pretended innocence and bashfulness, would have run
away with him. Yes, she would run away with a fellow that
she had been acquainted with (and that not intimately, if
you were as careful as you ought to be) but a 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 though I
will do nothing to her myself, yet I can bear, for the sake
of my revenge, and my injured 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 lamentations for the
loss of her fantastical innocence, which the romantic ideot
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 warned you, is full of contrivances. I am 'Your
friend.'
I had but just read this dreadful letter through, 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 snatched 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
afterwards. Why, this, said she, is a sad letter indeed: I
am sorry for it: But I feared 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, unrelenting persecutor as thou art!
I sat ruminating, when I had a little come to myself,
upon the terms of this wicked letter; and had no inclination
to look into my own. The bad names, fool's play-thing,
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
discovered poor John, and of Sir Simon's base officiousness,
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 Colbrand,
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 decide 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 threatened 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
object: I had vowed 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
hypocrite! and I see, that though you could not repose the
least confidence in one you had known for years, and who,
under my good mother's misplaced favour for you, had grown
up in a manner 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 myself 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 through 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 determined to place no
confidence in me, though I have solemnly, over and over,
engaged my honour to you. What, though I had alarmed 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, (although with great reluctance, such then
was my love for you,) engaged not to come near you without
your own consent? Was not this a voluntary demonstration of
the generosity of my intention to you? Yet how have you
requited me? The very first fellow that your charming face,
and insinuating address, could influence, you have practised
upon, corrupted too, I may say, (and even ruined, as the
ungrateful wretch shall find,) and thrown your forward self
upon him. As, therefore, you would place no confidence in
me, my honour owes you nothing; and, in a little time, you
shall find how much you have erred, in treating, as you have
done, a man who was once
'Your affectionate and kind friend.'
'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 ungrateful; when all I intended was
to preserve my innocence; and when all the poor little
shifts, which his superior wicked wit and cunning have
rendered ineffectual, were forced upon me in my own
necessary defence!
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 myself now entirely 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 is drawn in and
undone: I am sorry I am made the cause of his ruin. Poor,
poor man!—to be thus involved, 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 honourable way he thought was
left to save me: And his principal motive to it at all, was
virtue and compassion 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 notice of my
master's resentment; and let him fly the country, and not be
thrown into gaol. 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 offered to talk of a
duty superior to that she mentioned, which would oblige her
to help distressed innocence, and not permit her to go the
lengths enjoined 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 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 owned there was between
you, so seldom as I thought you saw one another; and I must
be more circumspect than I have been.
This doubled my concern; for I now apprehended I should
be much closer watched than before.
Well, said I, since I have, by this strange accident,
discovered my hard destiny; let me read over again that
fearful letter of yours, that I may get it by heart, and
with it feed my distress, and make calamity familiar to me.
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; because, as I said I would, by it, prepare myself for
the worst. And when I had done, I pinned 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
began to put on a commanding air, that I durst not oppose.
And when I went down, she took me by the hand, and presented
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 bowed,
and put on his foreign grimaces, and seemed to bless
himself; and, in broken English, told me, I was happy in de
affections of de finest gentleman in de varld!—I was quite
frightened, 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 apprised, 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 Mowlidge, in your neighbourhood, and large boned,
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
frightened me so; vast jaw-bones sticking out: eyebrows
hanging over his eyes; two great scars upon his forehead,
and one on his left cheek; and two large whiskers, and a
monstrous wide mouth; blubber lips; long yellow teeth, and a
hideous grin. He wears his own frightful long hair, tied up
in a great black bag; a black crape neckcloth about a long
ugly neck: and his throat sticking out like a wen. As to the
rest, he was dressed 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 offered to withdraw; 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 ached all the time I was at
table, not being able to look upon him without horror; and
this brute of a woman, though she saw my distress, before
this addition to it, no doubt did it on purpose to strike
more terror into me. And indeed it had its effect: for when
I went to bed, I could think of nothing but his hideous
person, and my master's more hideous actions: and thought
them too well paired; and when I dropt asleep, I dreamed
they were both coming to my bedside, with the worst designs;
and I jumped out of my bed in my sleep, and frightened Mrs.
Jewkes; till, waking with the terror, I told her my dream;
and the wicked creature only laughed, and said, All I feared
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 Wednesday, the 27th day
of my distress.
Poor Mr. Williams is actually arrested, and carried away
to Stamford. So there is an end of all my hopes from him,
poor gentleman! His over-security and openness have ruined
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 master!—But one might well
think, that he who had so cunningly, and so wickedly,
contrived all his stratagems 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, though 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 tigers, 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 he is
in such a passion, and has already begun his vengeance on
poor Mr. Williams, 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
locked 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 bars of
the window, (for you know I am very slender, and I find I
can get my head through,) then I can drop upon the leads
underneath, 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 be in 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, leaped overboard into the sea, and his enemies,
as he swam, shooting at him with bows and arrows, he
unloosed his upper garment, and took another course, while
they stuck that full of their darts and arrows; and so he
escaped, and lived to triumph over them all. So what will I
do, but strip off my upper petticoat, and throw it into the
pond, with my neckhandkerchief! For to be sure, when they
miss me, they will go to the pond first, thinking I have
drowned myself: and so, when they see some of my clothes
floating there, they will be all employed in dragging the
pond, which is a very large one; and as I shall not,
perhaps, be missed 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
direct 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 avowed bad designs.
O my dear parents! don't be frightened 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 searched and used dreadfully if I can't get
off. And 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 virtue; 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 missed. They are now both laughing at the dismal
story, which they little think I overheard—O how my heart
aches! for what are not such wretches capable of! Can you
blame me for endeavouring, through 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 treacherous brute! I never saw her so tipsy, and
that gives me hopes. I have tried again, and find I can get
my head through the iron bars. I am now all prepared, 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
heavenly kingdom. Amen.
Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday, the 28th, 29th, 30th,
and 31st days of my distress.
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 ruined 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 escaped 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 weakness and presumption, both in
one, of her own mind; which had well nigh, had not the
divine grace interposed, 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-secured
closet) are all I have to employ myself with: and indeed I
have been so weak, that, 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 encumber 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
difficulty, sticking a little at my shoulders and hips; but
I was resolved to get out, if possible. And it was farther
from the leads than I thought, and I was afraid I had
sprained my ancle; and when I had dropt from the leads to
the ground, it was still farther off; but I did pretty well
there, at least. I got no hurt to hinder me from pursuing my
intentions. So being now on the ground, I hid my papers
under a rose-bush, and covered them with mould, and there
they still lie, as I hope. Then I hied away to the pond: The
clock struck twelve, just as I got out; and it was a dark
misty night, and very cold; but I felt it not then.
When I came to the pond-side, I flung in my upper-coat,
as I had designed, and my neckhandkerchief, and a
round-eared 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 forced its way through it: and beat it well might! for
I then, too late, found, that I was most miserably
disappointed; for the wicked woman had taken off that lock,
and put another on; so that my key would not open it. I
tried, and tried, 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
clambered 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 stunned me; and I broke my shins
and my ancle besides, and beat off the heel of one of my
shoes.
In this dreadful way, flat upon the ground, lay poor I,
for I believe five or six minutes; and then trying to get
up, I sunk down again two or three times; and my left hip
and shoulder were very stiff, and full of pain, with
bruises; and, besides, my head bled, and ached grievously
with the blow I had with the brick. Yet these hurts I valued
not; but crept 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 gardener was nailing a
nectarine branch that was loosened from the wall: but no
ladder could I find, and the wall was very high. What now,
thought I, must become of the miserable Pamela!—Then I began
to wish myself most heartily again in my closet, and to
repent of my attempt, which I now censured 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 raise myself on my staggering feet; and away
limped I!—What to do, but to throw myself into the pond, and
so put a period to all my griefs in this world!—But, O! to
find them infinitely aggravated (had I not, by the divine
grace, been withheld) in a miserable eternity! As I have
escaped this temptation, (blessed be God for it!) I will
tell you my conflicts on this dreadful occasion, that the
divine mercies may be magnified in my deliverance, that I am
yet on this side the dreadful gulf, from which there could
have been no return.
It was well for me, as I have since thought, that I was
so maimed, as made me the longer before I got to the water;
for this gave me time to consider, and abated the
impetuousness of my passions, which possibly might otherwise
have hurried 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. But my
weakness of body made me move so slowly, that it gave time,
as I said, 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 reasoned 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 threatened thee in
it.
I then considered; 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 arrived, in this dreadful Colbrand! an angry and
resenting master, who now hated me, and threatened the most
afflicting evils! and that I should, in all probability, be
deprived 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 determined
on my ruin?
And then, thought I, (and oh! that thought was surely of
the devil's instigation; for it was very soothing, and
powerful with me,) these wicked wretches, who now have no
remorse, no pity on me, will then be moved to lament their
misdoings; and when they see the dead corpse of the unhappy
Pamela dragged out to these dewy banks, and lying breathless
at their feet, they will find that remorse to soften their
obdurate heart, 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
causelessly persecuted and destroyed! Now do I see she
preferred her honesty to her life, will he say, and is no
hypocrite, nor deceiver; but really was the innocent
creature she pretended to be! Then, thought I, will he,
perhaps, shed a few tears over the poor corpse of his
persecuted servant; and though he may give out, it was love
and disappointment; and that, perhaps, (in order to hide his
own guilt,) for the unfortunate Mr. Williams, yet will he be
inwardly grieved, and order me a decent funeral, and save
me, or rather this part of me, from the dreadful stake, and
the highway interment; 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, though 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 under
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, (for he has had me in his power
before, and yet I have escaped;) may be better for me, than
these persecuting emissaries of his, who, for his money, are
true to their wicked trust, and are hardened by that, and a
long habit of wickedness, against compunction 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 pursued only the laudable
escape I had meditated, may not kindly have furnished me
with the opportunity I am now tempted with to precipitate
myself, and of surrendering 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 authorised 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
exercised? Art thou to put a bound to the divine 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 hope
no forgiveness.—And wilt thou, to shorten 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, to avoid thy sufferings, be
the guilty aggressor? And, because wicked men persecute
thee, wilt thou fly in the face of the Almighty, and
distrust his grace 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 dependence 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 extreme
degrees of disappointment, poverty, and distress, and the
persecutions of an ungrateful world, and merciless
creditors,) to be thrown away upon thee: and bring down, as
in all probability this thy rashness will, their grey hairs
with sorrow to the grave, when they shall understand, that
their beloved daughter, slighting the tenders of divine
grace, despairing of the mercies of a protecting God, has
blemished, in this last act, a whole life, which they had
hitherto approved and delighted in?
What then, presumptuous Pamela, dost thou here? thought
I: Quit with speed these perilous banks, and fly from these
curling waters, that seem, in their meaning murmurs, this
still night, to reproach thy rashness! Tempt not God's
goodness on the mossy banks, that have been witnesses of thy
guilty purpose: and while thou hast power left thee, avoid
the tempting evil, lest thy grand enemy, now repulsed by
divine grace, and due reflection, return to the assault with
a force that thy weakness may not be able to resist! and let
one rash moment destroy all the convictions, which now have
awed thy rebellious mind into duty and resignation to the
divine will!
And so saying, I arose; but was so stiff with my hurts,
so cold with the moist dew of the night, and the wet grass
on which I had sat, as also with the damps arising from so
large a piece of water, that with great pain I got from this
pond, which now I think of with terror; and bending my
limping steps towards the house, took refuge in the corner
of an outhouse, where wood and coals are laid up for family
use, till I should be found by my cruel keepers, and
consigned to a more wretched confinement, and worse usage
than I had hitherto experienced; and there behind a pile of
firewood 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 enterprise; and who knows, if I had
got out at the back-door, whether I had been at all in a
better case, moneyless, friendless, 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
reprehension! 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 though I should have praised God for my deliverance,
had I been freed from my wicked keepers, and my designing
master; yet I have more abundant reason to praise him, that
I have been delivered from a worse enemy,—myself!
I will conclude my sad relation.
It seems Mrs. Jewkes awaked not till day-break; and not
finding me in bed, she called me; and, no answer being
returned, she relates, that she got out of bed, and ran to
my closet; and, missing me, searched under the bed, and in
another closet, finding 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 of the chamber-door, there were two or
three passages, and doors to them all, double-locked and
barred, to go through into the great garden; so that, to
escape, there was no way, but out of the window; and of that
window, because of the summer-parlour under it: for the
other windows are a great way from the ground.
She says she was excessively frightened; and instantly
raised the Swiss, and the two maids, who lay not far off;
and finding every door fast, she said, I must be carried
away, as St. Peter was out of prison, 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 whether I could do so again.
But at last finding that casement open, they concluded it
must be so; and 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-locked and
padlocked, 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 seemed like a
distracted woman: Till, at last, Nan had the thought to go
towards the pond: and there seeing my coat, and cap, and
handkerchief, in the water, cast almost to the banks by the
agitation of the waves, she thought it was me; and,
screaming out, ran to Mrs. Jewkes, and said, O, madam,
madam! here's a piteous thing!—Mrs. Pamela lies drowned in
the pond. Thither they all ran; and finding my clothes,
doubted not I was at the bottom; and they all, Swiss among
the rest, beat their breasts, and made most dismal
lamentations; 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
called 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 employed, 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 frightened, but was
taking up a billet to knock me on the head, believing I was
some thief, as she said; but I cried 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 broken, and we were going to drag the pond
for you, believing you had drowned yourself. Now, said she,
you'll make us all alive again!
And, without helping me, she ran 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 witchcrafts! 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 bruised on that side,) and drew me on my
face. O cruel creature! said I, if you knew what I have
suffered, it would move you to pity me!
Even Colbrand seemed to be concerned, and said, Fie,
madam, fie! you see she is almost dead! You must not be so
rough with her. The coachman Robin seemed 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 contrivance! said the horrid creature; she has
frightened me out of my wits, I'm sure. How the d—-l came
you here?—Oh! 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 tigress 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 carried me to
my chamber; and when the wretch saw how bad I was, she began
a little to relent—while every one wondered (at which 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 undressed
me, and got me to bed; and Mrs. Jewkes ordered Nan to bathe
my shoulder, and arm, and ancle, with some old rum warmed;
and they cut the hair a little from the back part of my
head, and washed that; for it was clotted with blood, from a
pretty long, but not a 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 refreshing
sleep, and lay till twelve o'clock, tolerably easy,
considering I was very feverish, and aguishly inclined; and
she took a deal of care to fit me to undergo more trials,
which I had hoped would have been happily ended: but
Providence did not see fit.
She would make me rise about twelve: but I was so weak, I
could only sit 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 ate
a little spoon-meat, and my feverishness seemed to be gone;
and I was so mended by evening, that I begged her indulgence
in my closet, to be left to myself; which she consented to,
it being double-barred the day before, and I assuring her,
that all my contrivances, as she called them, were at an
end. But first she made me tell the whole story of my
enterprise; which I did very faithfully, knowing now that
nothing could stand me in any stead, or contribute to my
safety and escape: And she seemed full of wonder at my
resolution; but told me frankly, that I should have found it
a hard matter to get quite off; for that she was provided
with a warrant from my master (who is a justice of peace in
this county as well as in the other) to get me apprehended,
if I had got away, on suspicion of wronging 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 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 the woman sees me pick up so fast,
she uses me worse, and has abridged me of paper, all but one
sheet, which I am to shew her, written or unwritten, on
demand: and has reduced 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
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
reserved. But health is a blessing hardly to be coveted in
my circumstances, since that but exposes me to the calamity
I am in continual apprehensions of; whereas a weak and
sickly state might possibly move compassion for me. O how I
dread the coming of this angry and incensed master; though I
am sure I have done him no harm!
Just now we heard, that he had like to have been drowned
in crossing the stream, a few days ago, in pursuing his
game. What is the matter, that with all his ill usage of me,
I cannot hate him? To be sure, I am not like other people!
He has certainly 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; though 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 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 turned
away, being detected in writing to Mr. Williams; and that
Mr. Longman, and Mr. Jonathan the butler, have incurred his
displeasure, for offering to speak in my behalf. Mrs. Jervis
too is in danger; for all these three, probably, went
together to beg in my favour; for now it is known where I
am.
Mrs. Jewkes has, with the news about my master, received
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 forced, as
a punishment, to marry us; and that, when my master has paid
for me, and I am surrendered 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! Yet,
abominable as it is, it may possibly serve to introduce some
plot now hatching!—With what strange perplexities is my poor
mind agitated! Perchance, some sham-marriage may be
designed, 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.
Nothing offers these days but squabblings between Mrs.
Jewkes and me. She grows worse and worse to me. I vexed her
yesterday, because she talked nastily; and told her she
talked more like a vile London prostitute, than a
gentleman's housekeeper; and she thinks 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; as she is a disgrace to
her sex. And then she ridicules me, and laughs at my notions
of honesty; and tells me, impudent creature as she is! what
a fine bed-fellow 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 apprehend 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 asked
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
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: But it is plain he
does, or I should not be left to the mercy of this woman:
and, what is worse, to my woful apprehensions.
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, and goes towards the town. And as
I sat musing upon 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 wondered what was the
matter, till they came nearer; and I found they were all
alarmed, 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 spied 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 has cured me of enterprising again. And when Mrs.
Jewkes came within hearing, I found her terribly incensed,
and raving about my contrivances. Why, said I, should you be
so concerned? Here I have sat a few minutes, and had not the
least thought of getting away, or going farther; 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 seeming to have the least inclination to stir.
But this would not serve: She ordered 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 locked 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
be between her and Nan; and I find she is resolved to make a
handle of this against me, and in her own behalf.—Indeed,
what with her usage, and my own apprehensions 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 clothes 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 come 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 show of, nor see the ladies. She left
me, saying, it would be worse for me, if I did not. But how
can that be?
Five o'clock is come,
And no young ladies!—So that I fancy—But hold! I hear
their coach, I believe. I'll step to the window.—I won't go
down to them, I am resolved—
Good sirs! good sirs! What will become of me! Here is my
master come in his fine chariot!—Indeed he is! What shall I
do? Where shall I hide myself?—O! What shall I do? Pray for
me! But oh! you'll not see this!—Now, good God of heaven,
preserve me; if it be thy blessed will!
Seven o'clock.
Though I dread to see him, yet do I wonder I have not. To
be sure something is resolved 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 possess 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 choose a
boiled chicken with butter and parsley.—And up he came!
He put on a stern and majestic air; and he can look very
majestic 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 myself 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 sobbed 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 little hypocrite
prostrates herself 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; confess your unworthy behaviour, and beg his
honour's forgiveness of all your faults. I was ready to
faint: And he said, She is mistress of arts, I'll assure
you; and will mimic 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 seemed in a great
passion, and walked up and down the room, casting sometimes
an eye upon me, and seeming as if he would have spoken, but
checked himself—And at last he said, When she has acted this
her first part over, perhaps I will see 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 wickedest creature that ever
breathed! Well, said the impertinent, not so wicked as that
neither; but I am glad you begin to see your faults. Nothing
like being 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 affliction 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 bearing 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 Mons. 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
turned away.
I thought, said he, when I came down, you should have sat
at table with me, when I had not company; but when I find
you cannot forget your 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.
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
poured it for me, and I carried it as well as I could; and
made a low courtesy. He took it, and said, Stand behind me,
out of my sight!
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you tell me she remains very
sullen still, and eats nothing. No, said she, not so much as
will keep life and soul together.—And is always crying, you
say, too? Yes, sir, answered 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 though,
in my life!—But, I suppose, 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 aliments 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 about it: And I am glad your honour is
come, with all my heart; and I hope, whatever be your
honour'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 clasped his knees with my arms, not
knowing what I did, and falling on my knees, Have mercy on
me, and hear me, concerning that wicked woman's usage of me—
He cruelly interrupted me, and said, I am satisfied 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 before 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
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 tried
before the vulture, on the accusation of the wolf!
So, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you are the wolf, I the
vulture, 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 romantic innocence, at the price of other
people's characters.
Well, said the aggravated 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 vulture.
Said I, I had no thought of comparing my master—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 creature is
praying for fire from heaven upon us! O she can curse most
heartily, in the spirit of Christian meekness, I'll assure
you!—Come, saucy-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 supped, 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 this while was standing in one corner of the
parlour,) see a more charming creature than this? Is it to
be wondered at, that I demean myself thus to take notice of
her?—See, said he, and took the glass with one hand, and
turned me round with the other, what a shape! what a neck!
what a hand! and what a bloom on that lovely face!—But who
can describe the tricks and artifices, that lie lurking 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 expect such artifice in so young a
sorceress?
I went to the farther part of the room, and held my face
against the wainscot; and in spite of all I could do to
refrain crying, sobbed as if my heart would break. He said,
I am surprised, 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
correspondences, and reveal every secret that comes to my
knowledge, 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, said she. What! not stir, when his
honour commands you to come to him!—Who knows but his
goodness 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 not forgive this intriguing little slut, and take
her to my bosom.
O, said the sycophant, you are very good, sir, very
forgiving, indeed!—But come, added the profligate 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 Heaven, to protect my innocence.
But the word was the subject of their ridicule. Was ever
poor creature worse beset!
He said, as if he had been considering whether he could
forgive me or not, No, I cannot yet forgive her neither.—She
has given me great disturbance, 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 ungrateful parson.—And surely I ought not to forgive
all this!—Yet, with all this wretched grimace, he kissed me
again, and would have put his hand into 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: 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 of; and let me have your answer, Pamela, in the
morning. 'Till then you have to resolve: and after that your
doom is fixed.—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 reprieve!
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 bed-fellows: and I would go to bed with some of my
clothes on: which they muttered at sadly; and Mrs. Jewkes
railed 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 answered her as little as I could.
He has Sir Simon Tell-tale, alias Darnford, to dine with
him to-day, whose family sent to welcome 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 honourable intentions all at once
laid open. They are, my dear parents, to make me a vile kept
mistress: which, I hope, I shall always detest the thoughts
of. But you'll see how they are accommodated to what I
should have most desired, could I have honestly promoted it,
your welfare and happiness. I have answered them, as I am
sure you'll approve; and I am prepared for the worst: For
though I fear there will be nothing omitted to ruin me, and
though my poor strength will not be able to defend me, yet I
will be innocent of crime in my intention, and in the sight
of God; and to him leave the avenging of all my wrongs, time
and manner. I shall write to you my answer against his
articles; and hope the best, though I fear the worst. But if
I should come home to you ruined and undone, and may not be
able to look you in the face; yet pity and inspirit the poor
Pamela, to make her little remnant of life easy; for long I
shall not survive my disgrace: and you may be assured it
shall not be my fault, if it be my misfortune.
'To MRS. PAMELA ANDREWS.
'The following ARTICLES are proposed to your serious
consideration; and let me have an answer, in writing, to
them, that I may take my resolutions accordingly. Only
remember, that I will not be trifled with; and what you give
for answer will absolutely decide your fate, without
expostulation, or farther trouble.

This is my ANSWER.
Forgive, sir, the spirit your poor servant is about to
show in
her answer to your ARTICLES. 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 person doubtful of her own mind; for it wants not
one
moment's consideration with me; and I therefore return the
ANSWER
following, let what will be the consequence.
'I. If you can convince me that the hated parson has had
no encouragement from you in his addresses; and that you
have no inclination for him in preference to me; then I will
offer the following proposals to you, which I will
punctually make good.
I. As to the first article, sir, it may behove me (that I
may
not deserve, in your opinion, the opprobrious terms of
forward
and artful, and such like) to declare solemnly, that Mr.
Williams
never had the least encouragement from me, as to what you
hint;
and I believe his principal motive was the apprehended duty
of his
function, 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 breathing I
would wish
to marry; and that the only one I could honour more than
another,
is the gentleman, who, of all others, seeks my everlasting
dishonour.
'II. I will directly make you a present of 500 guineas,
for your own use, which you may dispose of to any purpose
you please: and will give it absolutely into the hands of
any person you shall appoint to receive it; and expect no
favour in return, till you are satisfied in the possession
of it.
II. As to your second proposal, let the consequence be
what it
will, I reject it with all my soul. Money, sir, is not my
chief
good: May God Almighty desert me, whenever it is! and
whenever,
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 moment of reflection on a past
misspent life!
'III. I will likewise directly make over to you a
purchase I lately made in Kent, which brings in 250l. per
annum, clear of all deductions. 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 father shall be immediately put into possession of it
in trust for these purposes: and the management of it will
yield a comfortable subsistence to him, and your mother, for
life; and I will make up any deficiencies, if such should
happen, to that clear sum, and allow him 50l. per annum,
besides, for his life, and that of your mother, for his care
and management of this your estate.
III. Your third proposal, 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 concerned for the management
of
an estate, which would be owing to the prostitution of their
poor daughter. Forgive, sir, my warmth on this occasion; but
you know not the poor man, and the poor woman, my ever-dear
father and mother, if you think, that they would not much
rather
choose to starve in a ditch, or rot in a noisome dungeon,
than
accept 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 form, I
hope,
through God's assisting grace, ever make me act unworthy of
such poor honest parents!
'IV. I will, moreover, extend my favour to any other of
your relations, that you may think worthy of it, or that are
valued by you.
IV. Your fourth proposal, 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 capable of desiring it on
unworthy terms!
'V. I will, besides, order patterns to be sent you for
choosing four complete suits of rich clothes, that you may
appear with reputation, as if you were my wife. And will
give you the two diamond rings, and two pair of ear-rings,
and diamond necklace, that were bought by my mother, to
present to Miss Tomlins, 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 obliged, by your good behaviour and affection.
V. Fine clothes, 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. 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
recompensed
by those you propose to give me. What should I think, when I
looked upon my finger, or saw in the glass those diamonds 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
inwardly.
'VI. Now, Pamela, will you see by this, what a value I
set upon the free-will of a person already in my power; and
who, if these proposals are not accepted, shall find, that I
have not taken all these pains, and risked my reputation, as
I have done, without resolving to gratify my passion for
you, at all adventures; and if you refuse, without making
any terms at all.
VI. I know, sir, by woful 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
escape
the violence of man, I hope, by God's grace, I shall have
nothing
to reproach myself, for not doing all in my power to avoid
my
disgrace; and then I can safely appeal to the great God, my
only
refuge and protector, with this consolation, 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 ceremony had passed. All my servants
shall be yours; and you shall choose any two persons to
attend yourself, either male or female, without any control
of mine: and if your conduct be such, that I have reason to
be satisfied with it, I know not (but will not engage 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 impossible for me to deny you
any thing.
'And now, Pamela, consider well, it is in your power to
oblige me on such terms, as will make yourself, and all your
friends, happy: but this will be over this very day,
irrevocably 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 matter, 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 artifices to escape from the
confinement
you have put me in; although you promised to be honourable
to me.
Your honour, well I know, would not let you stoop to so mean
and
so unworthy a slave, as the poor Pamela: All I desire is, to
be
permitted to return to my native meanness unviolated. What
have
I done, sir, to deserve it should be otherwise? For the
obtaining
of this, though I would not have married 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 contentedly live at the meanest rate, and think not
myself
above the lowest condition, that I am also above making an
exchange
of my honesty for all the riches of the Indies. When I come
to be
proud and vain of gaudy apparel, and outside finery, then
(which I
hope will never be) may I rest my principal good in such
vain
trinkets, 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 behaviour; that this weighs less with
me, if possible, 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 moment 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 covered as
this!
Yet, after all, dreadful is the thought, that I, a poor,
weak, friendless, unhappy creature, am too full 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, though you have taken
large strides to this crying sin, yet are you on this side
the commission of it.—When once it is done, nothing can
recall it! And where will be your triumph?—What glory will
the spoils of such a weak enemy yield you? Let me but enjoy
my poverty 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 ruined, perhaps soul and body, a wretched creature,
whose only pride was her virtue! And how pleased you will
be, on the contrary, if in that tremendous moment you shall
be able to acquit yourself of this foul crime, and to plead
in your own behalf, that you suffered the earnest
supplications of an unhappy wretch to prevail with you to be
innocent yourself, and let her remain so!—May God Almighty,
whose mercy so lately saved you from 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!——
Your poor oppressed, broken spirited servant.
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 choose I should read it before you?
I offered 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 proposals, or not? Sir,
said I, you will see presently; pray don't hold me; for he
took my hand. Said he, Did you well consider before you
answered?—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 offered are not sufficient,
I will augment them to two-thirds of 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 frightened
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 Mrs. Jewkes down to him! And
I heard him very high in passion: and all about me! And I
heard her say, It was his own fault; there would be an end
of all my complaining and perverseness, if he was once
resolved; and other most impudent aggravations. I am
resolved 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 fetched 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 wicked woman: So I said, I am sure you
will let master in, and I shall be undone! Mighty piece of
undone! she said: but he was too much exasperated against
me, to be so familiar with me, she would assure me!—Ay, said
she, you'll be disposed of another way soon, I can tell you
for your comfort: and I hope your husband will have your
obedience, though 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 tried; and Nan coming in, What!
said I, am I to have two bed-fellows again, these warm
nights? Yes, said she, slippery-one, 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 actions, are bad
words; for they could not be spoken, if they were not in the
heart.—Come to bed, purity! said she. You are a nonsuch, I
suppose. Indeed, said I, I can't come to bed; and it will do
you no harm to let me stay 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; though, said she, I
think it an office worthier of Monsieur Colbrand!—You are
very wicked, said I. I know it, said she; I am a Jezebel,
and a London 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, lambkin, 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 vulture 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; though I can
have neither justice nor mercy here, and cannot be heard in
my defence, yet a time will come, may be, when I shall be
heard, and when your own guilt will strike you dumb.—Ay!
spirit, said she; and the vulture too! Must we both be dumb?
Why that, lambkin, will be pretty!—Then, said the wicked
one, you'll have all the talk to yourself!—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'm got into!—Ay, so it
does, said she; but I beg you'll undress, and come to bed,
or I believe your innocence 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 contrivances 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 please to exert
myself; 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, 'tis true; but so
obstinate! so full of spirit! if thy strength was but
answerable to that, thou would'st 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 chamber-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, 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 lie:
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 stockings.—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 importunate, I was forced
to go to bed; but with some of my clothes 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 offered to talk a
little once or twice; and she snubbed her, and said, I
charge you, wench, don't open your lips before me; and if
you are asked any questions by Mrs. Pamela, don't answer her
one word, while I am here!—But she is a lordly woman 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
gentleman of great worth and honour, who labours under a
temptation
to exert his great power to ruin a poor, distressed,
worthless
maiden:
And also,
The prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired 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, carried it
down to my master.—He looked upon it, and said, Tell her,
she shall soon see how her prayers are answered; she is very
bold: but as she has rejected all my favours, her reckoning
for all is not far off. I looked after him out of the
window; and he was charmingly dressed: 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 Simon Darnford. I
am much concerned 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 agreement between them; and he
absolutely depended on my master's favour. To be sure, it
was the more generous of him to run these risks 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 oppressor's jealousy more. And I have
not interest to save myself!
Sunday evening.
Mrs. Jewkes has received a line from my master: I wonder
what it is, for 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 avowed, 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 chamber, this
letter of my master's to her; and I bolted myself in, till I
had transcribed it. You'll see how tremblingly, by the
lines. I wish poor Mr. Williams's release at any rate; but
this letter makes my heart ache. Yet I have another day's
reprieve, thank God!
'MRS. JEWKES,
'I have been so pressed on Williams's affair, that I shall
set out this afternoon, in Sir Simon's chariot, and with
Parson Peters, who is his intercessor, 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
withstood 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 ensnaring loveliness 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 night, lest she
venture the window in her foolish rashness: for I shall
require her at your hands.
'Yours, etc.'
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 carelessly left 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! Indeed,
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 I have 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 parents; for I have no more to
write about this night: and though his letter shocks me, yet
I will be as brisk 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 suffered since what I wrote on 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 frightened and affected
with my distress, when I tell you, that his journey to
Stamford was all abominable pretence! 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 happened, or designed, 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 perceived 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 supped, and go to bed, to sleep off her liquor,
before we came to bed. 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 locked both
doors, and saw poor Nan, as I thought, (but, 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 he 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,
replied 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 conveniences of that kind, and more
paper than I am aware of; and I had intended to rummage you,
if my master had not come down; for I spied a broken tea-cup
with ink, which gave me suspicion: 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 fetched
a deep sigh! What do you sigh for? said she. I am thinking,
Mrs. Jewkes, answered I, what a sad life I live, and how
hard is my lot. I am sure, the thief that has robbed is much
better off than I, 'bating the guilt; and I should, I think,
take it for a mercy, to be hanged 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. Jervis; in
this manner:
Here, said I, were my poor honest parents; they took care
to instill 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 confirmed
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
byeword.
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 taught 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, though 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 I have lived about sixteen years in virtue and
reputation; and all at once, when I come to know what is
good, and what is evil, I must renounce all the good, all
the whole sixteen years' innocence, which, next to God's
grace, I owed chiefly to my parents, and my lady's good
lessons and examples, and choose 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 clothes,
which, when I wore them, would make but my former poverty
more ridiculous to 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
tricked 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 abandoned
prostitute his daughter: And then, (there was the jest
again!) my kind, forgiving, 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 be ruined; 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, though he knew
John was his own creature, and helped to deceive me.
Then was he outrageous against poor Parson Williams! and
him has this good, merciful master, thrown into gaol; 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!
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 by such an
unlawful restraint; and which would not have been 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
undone.—Why, therefore to choose, 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, though 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; and 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 closet, and kneeled down in my own,
as I used to do, to say my prayers, and this with my
underclothes in my hand, all undressed; 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 meanness will not Lucifer make his votaries
stoop to, to gain their abominable ends!
Mrs. Jewkes, by this time, was got to bed, on the farther
side, as she used to be; and, to make room for the maid,
when she should awake, I got into bed, and lay close to her.
And I said, Where are the keys? though, 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 abominable 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-ache finely to-morrow for this! 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 but say 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 bewitched you did not close with
them: But let us go to sleep. So I was silent; and the
pretended Nan (O wicked, base, villanous designer! what a
plot, what an unexpected plot was this!) seemed to be
awaking; and Mrs. Jewkes, abhorrent 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. Anne, I warrant your head aches
most sadly! How do you do?
Says he, One word with you, Pamela; one word hear me but;
I must say one word to you, it is this: You see now you are
in my power!—You cannot get from me, nor help yourself: Yet
have I not offered 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! 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 clothes on; and he on the other
with his, and in his gown and slippers.
Your poor Pamela cannot answer for the liberties 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 have I suffered 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, vowed,
that he had not offered the least indecency; that he was
frightened at the terrible manner I was taken with the fit:
that he should desist from his attempt; and begged but to
see me easy and quiet, and he would leave me directly, and
go to his own bed. O then, said I, take with you this most
wicked 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 moment I see you better,
and pacified. 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 be 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 forgive you,
sir, as you have been just in my distress; and as you will
be just to what you promise! And he withdrew, with a
countenance of remorse, as I hoped; and she shut the doors,
and, at my request, 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 recall 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, empowered me to preserve my
innocence; and, when all my strength would have signified
nothing, magnified himself in my weakness.
I was so weak all day on Monday, that I could not get out
of my bed. My master shewed 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 stopped short of the bed, and
said, Rather than give you apprehensions, I will come no
farther. 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?—begged me to be composed; said, I
still looked 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 altered his method of proceeding; and
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 parlour. As soon as he saw
me, 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
overflowed at the remembrance, and I turned 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 fetched her smelling-bottle,
and we both 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 feared 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 passion your sex can shew when
they are in earnest. But this I repeat to you, that your
mind may be entirely comforted—Whatever I offered to you,
was before you fainted away, and that, I am sure, was
innocent.
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
though 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 your resolution, if
you'll 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 assured 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 present 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, although 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 consent; 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 resentment.
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 wickedness, and her
endeavours to instigate you more to ruin me, when your
returning goodness seemed to 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 refusal would stand
me in no stead,) I will consent to both; and to every thing
else, that you shall be pleased to enjoin, which I can do,
with innocence.
That's my good girl! said he, and kissed 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 obliged to you for all your
diligence and fidelity to me; but Pamela, I must own, is
not; because the service I employed you in was not so very
obliging to her, as I could have wished 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 service 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 remember that you are not to disoblige me, to
oblige her; and that I will not, cannot, yet part with her.
Mrs. Jewkes looked 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 forced to
have done for that time.
All this time, my papers, that I buried under the
rose-bush, lay there still; and I begged 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 design; 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,
because, may be, he may watch an opportunity, and join force
with it, on occasion, when I am least prepared: for now he
seems to abound with kindness, 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 meaning 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 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 farther part
of the garden; and really made me afraid of myself, for he
began to be very teasing, 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, though
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 answered.
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 thawed 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
delivered me from the paw of the lion and the bear; that is,
his and Mrs. Jewkes's violences, will soon deliver me from
this Philistine, 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 honour all the time with his
mouth, while his actions did not correspond. I begged and
prayed he would let me go: and had I not appeared quite
regardless of all he said, and resolved not to stay, if I
could help it, I know not how far he would have proceeded;
for I was forced to fall down upon my knees.
At last he walked 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 talk 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 whom I talk to, 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 loved 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 towards 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, I came back, at his call; and
seeing him look displeased, 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
offered you?—I was bewitched I had not gone through my
purpose last Sunday night; and then your licentious 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 soothe me, and now threaten me; and
if I should forbear to shew my resentment, when you offer
incivilities 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 indignation I could express, at
the first approaches you make to what I dread? And have you
not as good as avowed my ruin?—And have you once made me
hope you will quit your purposes against me? How then, sir,
can I act, but by shewing my abhorrence of every step that
makes towards my undoing? 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 repent?—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 resentment of such actions, I will not
promise to forbear 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
walked by the side of me some yards, without saying a word,
and seemed vexed; 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.
If, my dear parents, I am not destined 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 scene 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 dined, he took a turn into the
stables, to look at his stud of horses; and, when he came
in, he opened 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, Pamela. O, said Mrs. Jewkes, very poorly, indeed,
sir! No, said I, pretty well, sir, considering. None of your
considerings, said he, pretty face; and tapped me on the
cheek. I blushed, but was glad he was so good-humoured; 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 mother 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 loved. 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 eaten 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 teach me to eat heartily: So I
did eat it; but was much confused at his so kind and unusual
freedom and condescension. And, good lack! you can't imagine
how Mrs. Jewkes looked and stared, and how respectful she
seemed to me, and called 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 before 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
courtesied, 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 called me again, I am sure you are to be our
mistress! And then I know what will become 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
otherwise.
Notwithstanding I had no reason to be pleased 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 through 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 dreaded conflict, that my present
hopes, if I am not to be deceived again, began to dawn:
which I presume to flatter myself with being a 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 seemed
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 looked at 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 good 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 engaged
my affection so deeply, that, as I have often said, I cannot
live without 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, though in saucy
terms enough, yet in such a manner as makes me admire you
the more. Your pretty chit-chat to Mrs. Jewkes, the last
Sunday night, so innocent, and so full of beautiful
simplicity, half disarmed my resolution before I approached
your bed: And I see you so watchful over your virtue, that
though I hoped to find it otherwise, I cannot but confess my
passion for you is increased by it. But now, what shall I
say farther, Pamela?—I will make you, though a party, my
adviser in this matter, though not, perhaps, my definitive
judge.
You know I am not a very abandoned 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 gratified them, and not have shewn that remorse and
compassion for you, which have reprieved 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 marriage, even with a person of
equal or superior degree to myself; and have declined
several proposals of that kind: How then, with the distance
between us 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 behold 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 contrary 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, when I bid
you, What you think I ought to do? I cannot say what you
ought to do, answered 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 engaged without your
approbation.
Still he insisted upon a more explicit answer to his
question, of what I thought he ought to do. And I did, As to
my poor thoughts of what you 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 your condition:
And this, good sir, is the best advice I can offer.
Charming creature! lovely Pamela! said he, (with an
ardour 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 Pamela, 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 concerned 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 assured 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 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 myself 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 border by
the pond-side, he sat himself down on the grass by me, and
took me in his arms: Why hesitates 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 overheard; for,
in not answering me directly, you put my soul upon the rack;
and half the trouble I have had with you would have brought
to my arms one of the finest ladies 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
uneasiness.
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 conduct, 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 terror; because my nature is too frank
and open to make me wish to be ungrateful: and if I should
be taught a lesson I never yet learnt, with what regret
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 yourself! 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 speak 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 would wish to be married
to, or that ever I thought of with such an idea. I had
brought my mind so to love poverty, that I hoped for nothing
but to return to the best, though the poorest of parents;
and to employ myself in serving God, and comforting them;
and you know not, sir, how you disappointed those hopes, and
my proposed honest pleasures, 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 steadfast 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 encouraged Williams
to think you will have him? Indeed, 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 resolved, 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 disguised 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 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 convinced that you are not prepossessed,
my vanity makes me assured, 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 novice!
O good sir, said I, may I be heard one thing? And though
I bring upon me your highest indignation, I will tell you,
perhaps, the unnecessary and imprudent, but yet the whole
truth.
My honesty (I am poor and lowly, and am not entitled to
call it honour) was in danger. I saw no means of securing
myself from your avowed attempts. You had shewed 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 escaped 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 prevailed 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 refused me; and then it was he let me know, that
there was no honourable way but marriage. That I declined;
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 ruined, 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 pleased 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 over-much pleased 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 honour, and your virtue; since all attempts against
that are so odious to you; and since I have avowedly 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 advantage 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! replied 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 abashed, leaned upon his shoulder, to hide
my confusion.
He clasped 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 experienced in all the guilty
tumults that my desiring soul compelled 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 overpowered all my reserves. I threw
myself at his feet, and embraced 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 censure? 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 the happiness of my
late good lady's most beloved 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 farther on this subject, I will take my proud heart to
task; and, till then, let every thing be as if this
conversation had never passed. 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 with a more formal
manner, if I may so say, than before, and lent me his hand;
and so we walked toward 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 forward 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 hushed, 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, 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.
Thursday morning.
Somebody rapped at our chamber-door this morning, soon
after it was light: Mrs. Jewkes asked, who it was? My master
said, Open the door, Mrs. Jewkes! O, said I, for God's sake,
Mrs. Jewkes, don't! Indeed, said she, but I must. Then, said
I, and clung about her, let me slip on my clothes first. But
he rapped again, and she broke from me; and I was frightened
out of my wits, and folded myself in the bed-clothes. He
entered, and said, What, Pamela, so fearful, after what
passed yesterday between us! O, sir, sir, said I, I fear my
prayers have wanted their wished effect! Pray, good sir,
consider—He sat down on the bed-side, and interrupted me; No
need of your foolish fears; I shall say but a word or two,
and go away.
After you went up stairs, said he, I had an invitation to
a ball, which is to be this night at Stamford, on occasion
of a wedding; and I am going to call on Sir Simon, and his
lady and daughters; for the bride is a relation of theirs:
so I shall not be at home till Saturday. I come, therefore,
to caution you, Mrs. Jewkes, before Pamela, (that she may
not wonder at being closer confined, than for these three or
four days past,) that nobody sees her, nor delivers any
letter to her, in that space; for a person has been seen
lurking about, and inquiring after her, and I have been well
informed, that either Mrs. Jervis, or Mr. Longman, has
written a letter, with a design of having it conveyed to
her: And, said he, you must know, Pamela, that I have
ordered Mr. Longman to give up his accounts, and have
dismissed Jonathan and Mrs. Jervis, since I have been here;
for their behaviour has been intolerable; and they have made
such a breach between my sister Davers and me, as we shall
never, perhaps, make up. Now, Pamela, I shall take it kindly
in you, if you will confine yourself to your chamber pretty
much, for the time I am absent, and not give Mrs. Jewkes
cause of trouble or uneasiness; and the rather, as you know
she acts by my orders.
Alas! sir, said I, I fear all these good people have
suffered for my sake!—Why, said he, I believe so too; and
there was never a girl of your innocence, that set a large
family in such an uproar, surely.—But let that pass. You
know both of you my mind, and, in part, the reason of it. I
shall only say, that I have had such a letter from my
sister, as I could not have expected; and, Pamela, said he,
neither you nor I have reason to thank her, as you shall
know, perhaps at my return.—I go in my coach, Mrs. Jewkes,
because I take Lady Darnford, and Mrs. Peters's niece, and
one of Lady Darnford's daughters, along with me; and Sir
Simon and his other daughter go in his chariot: so let all
the gates be fastened; and don't take any airing in either
of the chariots, nor let any body go to the gate, without
you, Mrs. Jewkes. I'll be sure, said she, to obey your
honour.
I will give Mrs. Jewkes no trouble, sir, said I; and will
keep pretty much in my chamber, and not stir so much as into
the garden without her; to shew you I will obey in every
thing I can. But I begin to fear—Ay, said he, more plots and
contrivances, don't you?—But I'll assure you, you never had
less reason; and I tell you the truth; for I am really going
to Stamford this time; and upon the occasion I tell you. And
so, Pamela, give me your hand, and one kiss; and then I am
gone.
I durst not refuse, and said, God bless you, sir,
wherever you go!—But I am sorry for what you tell me about
your servants!
He and Mrs. Jewkes had a little talk without the door;
and I heard her say, You may depend, sir, upon my care and
vigilance.
He went in his coach, as he said he should, and very
richly dressed, which looks as if what he said was likely:
but really I have been used to so many tricks, and plots,
and surprises, that I know not what to think. But I mourn
for poor Mrs. Jervis.—So here is Parson Williams; here's
poor naughty John; here is good Mrs. Jervis, and Mr.
Longman, and Mr. Jonathan, turned away for me!—Mr. Longman
is rich, indeed, and so need the less matter it; but I know
it will grieve him: and for poor Mr. Jonathan, I am sure it
will cut that good old servant to the heart. Alas for me!
what mischiefs am I the occasion of!—Or, rather, my master,
whose actions towards me have made so many of my kind
friends forfeit his favour, for my sake!
I am very sad about these things: If he really loved me,
methinks he should not be so angry, that his servants loved
me too.—I know not what to think!
Friday night.
I have removed my papers from under the rose-bush; for I
saw the gardener begin to dig near that spot; and I was
afraid he would find them.
Mrs. Jewkes and I were looking yesterday through the iron
gate that fronts the elms; and a gipsy-like body made up to
us, and said; If, madam, you will give me some broken
victuals, I will tell you both your fortunes. I said, Let us
hear our fortunes, Mrs. Jewkes. She said, I don't like these
sort of people; but we will hear what she'll say to us,
however. I shan't fetch you any victuals, woman; but I will
give you some pence, said she.
But Nan coming out, she said, Fetch some bread, and some
of the cold meat, and you shall have your fortune told, Nan.
This, you'll think, like some of my other matters, a very
trifling thing to write about. But mark the discovery of a
dreadful plot, which I have made by it. O, bless me! What
can I think of this naughty, this very naughty
gentleman!—Now will I hate him most heartily. Thus it was:—
Mrs. Jewkes had no suspicion of the woman, the iron gate
being locked, and she on the outside, and we on the inside;
and so put her hand through. She said, muttering over a
parcel of cramp words; Why, madam, you will marry soon, I
can tell you. At that she seemed pleased, and said, I am
glad to hear that; and shook her fat sides with laughing.
The woman looked most earnestly at me, all the time, and as
if she had meaning. Then it came into my head, from my
master's caution, that possibly this woman might be employed
to try to get a letter into my hands; and I was resolved to
watch all her motions. So Mrs. Jewkes said, What sort of a
man shall I have, pray?—Why, said she, a man younger than
yourself; and a very good husband he'll prove.—I am glad of
that, said she; and laughed again. Come, madam, let us hear
your fortune.
The woman came to me, and took my hand. O! said she, I
cannot tell your fortune: your hand is so white and fine, I
cannot see the lines: but, said she, and, stooping, pulled
up a little tuft of grass, I have a way for that; and so
rubbed my hand with the mould part of the tuft: Now, said
she, I can see the lines.
Mrs. Jewkes was very watchful of all her ways, and took
the tuft, and looked upon it, lest any thing should be in
that. And then the woman said, Here is the line of Jupiter
crossing the line of life; and Mars—Odd! my pretty mistress,
said she, you had best take care of yourself; for you are
hard beset, I'll assure you. You will never be married, I
can see; and will die of your first child. Out upon thee,
woman! said I, better thou hadst never come here.
Said Mrs. Jewkes, whispering, I don't like this: it looks
like a cheat: Pray, Mrs. Pamela, go in, this moment. So I
will, said I; for I have enough of fortune-telling. And in I
went.
The woman wanted sadly to tell me more, which made Mrs.
Jewkes threaten her, suspecting still the more; and away the
woman went, having told Nan her fortune, and she would be
drowned.
This thing ran strongly in all our heads; and we went, an
hour after, to see if the woman was lurking about, and took
Mr. Colbrand for our guard. Looking through the iron gate,
he spied a man sauntering about the middle of the walk;
which filled Mrs. Jewkes with still more suspicions; and she
said, Mr. Colbrand, you and I will walk towards this fellow,
and see what he saunters there for: And, Nan, do you and
madam stay at the gate.
So they opened the iron gate and walked down towards the
man; and guessing the woman, if employed, must mean
something by the tuft of grass, I cast my eye that way,
whence she pulled it, and saw more grass seemingly pulled
up: then I doubted not something was there for me; and I
walked to it, and standing over it, said to Nan, That's a
pretty sort of wild flower, that grows yonder, near the elm,
the fifth from us on the left; pray pull it for me. Said
she, It is a common weed. Well, said I, but pull it for me;
there are sometimes beautiful colours in a weed.
While she went on, I stooped, and pulled up a good
handful of the grass, and in it a bit of paper, which I put
instantly in my bosom, and dropt the grass: and my heart
went pit-a-pat at the odd adventure. Said I, Let's go in,
Mrs. Anne. No, said she, we must stay till Mrs. Jewkes
comes.
I was all impatience to read this paper: and when
Colbrand and she returned, I went in. Said she, Certainly
there is some reason for my master's caution: I can make
nothing of this sauntering fellow; but, to be sure, there
was some roguery in the gipsy. Well, said I, if there was,
she lost her aim, you see! Ay, very true, said she; but that
was owing to my watchfulness; and you was very good to go
away, when I spoke to you.
I hastened up stairs to my closet, and found the billet
to contain, in a hand that seemed disguised, and bad
spelling, the following words:
'Twenty contrivances have been thought of to let you know
your danger: but all have proved in vain. Your friends hope
it is not yet too late to give you this caution, if it
reaches your hands. The 'squire is absolutely determined to
ruin you; and, because he despairs of any other way, he will
pretend great love and kindness to you, and that he will
marry you. You may expect a parson, for this purpose, in a
few days; but it is a sly artful fellow, of a broken
attorney, that he has hired to personate a minister. The man
has a broad face, pitted much with the small-pox, and is a
very great companion. So take care of yourself. Doubt not
this advice. Perhaps you'll have had but too much reason
already to confirm you in the truth of it. From your zealous
well-wisher, 'SOMEBODY.'
Now, my dear father and mother, what shall we say of this
truly diabolical master! O, how shall I find words to paint
my griefs, and his deceit! I have as good as confessed I
love him; but, indeed, it was on supposing him good.—This,
however, has given him too much advantage. But now I will
break this wicked forward heart of mine, if it will not be
taught to hate him! O, what a black dismal heart must he
have! So here is a plot to ruin me, and by my own consent
to!—No wonder he did not improve his wicked opportunities,
(which I thought owing to remorse for his sin, and
compassion for me,) when he had such a project as this in
reserve!—Here should I have been deluded with the hopes of a
happiness that my highest ambition could have had aspired
to!—But how dreadful must have been my lot, when I had found
myself an undone creature, and a guilty harlot, instead of a
lawful wife! Oh! this is indeed too much, too much, for your
poor Pamela to support! This is the worse, as I hoped all
the worst was over; and that I had the pleasure of beholding
a reclaimed man, and not an abandoned libertine. What now
must your poor daughter do? Now all her hopes are dashed!
And if this fails him, then comes, to be sure, my forced
disgrace! for this shews he will never leave till he has
ruined me—O, the wretched, wretched Pamela!
Saturday noon, one o'clock.
My master is come home; and, to be sure, has been where
he said. So once he has told truth; and this matter seems to
be gone off without a plot: No doubt he depends upon his
sham wicked marriage! He has brought a gentleman with him to
dinner; and so I have not seen him yet.
Two o'clock.
I am very sorrowful, and still have greater reason; for,
just now, as I was in my closet, opening the parcel I had
hid under the rose-bush, to see if it was damaged by lying
so long, Mrs. Jewkes came upon me by surprise, and laid her
hands upon it; for she had been looking through the
key-hole, it seems.
I know not what I shall do! For now he will see all my
private thoughts of him, and all my secrets, as I may say.
What a careless creature I am!—To be sure I deserve to be
punished.
You know I had the good luck, by Mr. Williams's means, to
send you all my papers down to Sunday night, the 17th day of
my imprisonment. But now these papers contain all my matters
from that time, to Wednesday the 27th day of my distress:
And which, as you may now, perhaps, never see, I will
briefly mention the contents to you.
In these papers, then, are included, 'An account of Mrs.
Jewkes's arts to draw me in to approve of Mr. Williams's
proposal for marriage; and my refusing to do so; and
desiring you not to encourage his suit to me. Mr. Williams's
being wickedly robbed, and a visit of hers to him; whereby
she discovered all his secrets. How I was inclined to get
off, while she was gone; but was ridiculously prevented by
my foolish fears, etc. My having the key of the back-door.
Mrs. Jewkes's writing to my master all the secrets she had
discovered of Mr. Williams, and her behaviour to me and him
upon it. Continuance of my correspondence with Mr. Williams
by the tiles; begun in the parcel you had. My reproaches to
him for his revealing himself to Mrs. Jewkes; and his letter
to me in answer, threatening to expose my master, if he
deceived him; mentioning in it John Arnold's correspondence
with him; and a letter which John sent, and was intercepted,
as it seems. Of the correspondence being carried on by a
friend of his at Gainsborough. Of the horse he was to
provide for me, and one for himself. Of what Mr. Williams
had owned to Mrs. Jewkes; and of my discouraging his
proposals. Then it contained a pressing letter of mine to
him, urging my escape before my master came; with his
half-angry answer to me. Your good letter to me, my dear
father, sent to me by Mr. Williams's conveyance; in which
you would have me encourage Mr. Williams, but leave it to
me; and in which, fortunately enough, you take notice of my
being uninclined to marry.—My earnest desire to be with you.
The substance of my answer to Mr. Williams, expressing more
patience, etc. A dreadful letter of my master to Mrs.
Jewkes; which, by mistake, was directed to me; and one to
me, directed by like mistake to her; and very free
reflections of mine upon both. The concern I expressed for
Mr. Williams's being taken in, deceived, and ruined. An
account of Mrs. Jewkes's glorying in her wicked fidelity. A
sad description I gave of Monsieur Colbrand, a person he
sent down to assist Mrs. Jewkes in watching me. How Mr.
Williams was arrested, and thrown into gaol; and the concern
I expressed upon it; and my free reflections on my master
for it. A projected contrivance of mine, to get away out of
the window, and by the back-door; and throwing by petticoat
and handkerchief into the pond to amuse them, while I got
off: An attempt that had like to have ended very dreadfully
for me! My further concern for Mr. Williams's ruin, on my
account: And, lastly, my over-hearing Mrs. Jewkes brag of
her contrivance to rob Mr. Williams, in order to get at my
papers; which, however, he preserved, and sent safe to you.'
These, down to the execution of my unfortunate plot to
escape, are, to the best of my remembrance, the contents of
the papers, which this merciless woman seized: For, how
badly I came off, and what followed, I still have safe, as I
hope, sewed in my under-coat, about my hips.
In vain were all my prayers and tears to her, to get her
not to shew them to my master. For she said, It had now come
out, why I affected to be so much alone; and why I was
always writing. And she thought herself happy, she said, she
had found these; for often and often had she searched every
place she could think of, for writings, to no purpose
before. And she hoped, she said, there was nothing in them
by what any body might see; for, said she, you know you are
all innocence!—Insolent creature! said I, I am sure you are
all guilt!—And so you must do your worst; for now I can't
help myself, and I see there is no mercy to be expected from
you.
Just now, my master being come up, she went to him upon
the stairs, and gave him my papers. There, sir, said she;
you always said Mrs. Pamela was a great writer; but I never
could get at any thing of hers before. He took them; and,
without coming to me, went down to the parlour again. And
what with the gipsy affair, and what with this, I could not
think of going down to dinner; and she told him that too;
and so I suppose I shall have him up stairs, as soon as his
company is gone.
Saturday, six o'clock.
My master came up, and, in a pleasanter manner than I
expected, said, So, Pamela, we have seized, it seems, your
treasonable papers? Treasonable! said I, very sullenly. Ay,
said he, I suppose so; for you are a great plotter: but I
have not read them yet.
Then, sir, said I, very gravely, it will be truly
honourable in you not to read them; but to give them to me
again. To whom, says he, are they written?—To my father,
sir; but I suppose you see to whom.—Indeed, returned he, I
have not read three lines yet. Then, pray, sir, don't read
them; but give them to me again. That I will not, said he,
till I have read them. Sir, said I, you served me not well
in the letters I used to write formerly: I think it was not
worthy your character to contrive to get them in your hands,
by that false John Arnold! for should such a gentleman as
you mind what your poor servant writes?—Yes, said he, by all
means, mind what such a servant as my Pamela writes.
Your Pamela! thought I. Then the sham marriage came into
my head; and indeed it has not been out of it, since the
gipsy affair.—But, said he, have you any thing in these
papers you would not have me see? To be sure, sir, said I,
there is; for what one writes to one's father and mother, is
not for every body to see. Nor, said he, am I every body.
Those letters, added he, that I did see by John's means,
were not to your disadvantage, I'll assure you; for they
gave me a very high opinion of your wit and innocence: And
if I had not loved you, do you think I would have troubled
myself about your letters?
Alas! sir, said I, great pride to me that! For they gave
you such an opinion of my innocence, that you was resolved
to ruin me. And what advantage have they brought me!—Who
have been made a prisoner, and used as I have been between
you and your housekeeper.
Why, Pamela, said he, a little seriously, why this
behaviour, for my goodness to you in the garden?—This is not
of a piece with your conduct and softness there, that quite
charmed me in your favour: And you must not give me cause to
think that you will be the more insolent, as you find me
kinder. Ah! sir, said I, you know best your own heart and
designs! But I fear I was too open-hearted then; and that
you still keep your resolution to undo me, and have only
changed the form of your proceedings.
When I tell you once again, said he, a little sternly,
that you cannot oblige me more, than by placing some
confidence in me, I will let you know, that these foolish
and perverse doubts are the worst things you can be guilty
of. But, said he, I shall possibly account for the cause of
them, in these papers of yours; for I doubt not you have
been sincere to your father and mother, though you begin to
make me suspect you: For I tell you, perverse girl, that it
is impossible you should be thus cold and insensible, after
what has passed in the garden, if you were not prepossessed
in some other person's favour: And let me add, that if I
find it so, it shall be attended with such effects, as will
make every vein in your heart bleed.
He was going away in wrath; and I said, One word, good
sir, one word before you read them, since you will read
them: Pray make allowances—for all the harsh reflections
that you will find in them, on your own conduct to me: And
remember only, that they were not written for your sight;
and were penned by a poor creature hardly used, and who was
in constant apprehension of receiving from you the worst
treatment that you could inflict upon her.
If that be all, said he, and there be nothing of another
nature, that I cannot forgive, you have no cause for
uneasiness; for I had as many instances of your saucy
reflections upon me in your former letters, as there were
lines; and yet, you see, I have never upbraided you on that
score; though, perhaps, I wished you had been more sparing
of your epithets, and your freedoms of that sort.
Well, sir, said I, since you will, you must read them;
and I think I have no reason to be afraid of being found
insincere, or having, in any respect, told you a falsehood;
because, though I don't remember all I wrote, yet I know I
wrote my heart; and that is not deceitful. And remember,
sir, another thing, that I always declared I thought myself
right to endeavour to make my escape from this forced and
illegal restraint; and so you must not be angry that I would
have done so, if I could.
I'll judge you, never fear, said he, as favourably as you
deserve; for you have too powerful a pleader within me. And
so went down stairs.
About nine o'clock he sent for me down into the parlour.
I went a little fearfully; and he held the paper in his
hand, and said, Now, Pamela, you come upon your trial. Said
I, I hope I have a just judge to hear my cause. Ay, said he,
and you may hope for a merciful one too, or else I know not
what will become of you.
I expect, continued he, that you will answer me directly,
and plainly, to every question I shall ask you.—In the first
place, here are several love-letters between you and
Williams. Love-letters! sir, said I.—Well, call them what
you will, said he, I don't entirely like them, I'll assure
you, with all the allowances you desired me to make for you.
Do you find, sir, said I, that I encouraged his proposal, or
do you not? Why, said he, you discourage his address in
appearance; but no otherwise than all your cunning sex do to
ours, to make us more eager in pursuing you.
Well, sir, said I, that is your comment; but it does not
appear so in the text. Smartly said! says he: Where a d—-l
gottest thou, at these years, all this knowledge? And then
thou hast a memory, as I see by your papers, that nothing
escapes. Alas! sir, said I, what poor abilities I have,
serve only to make me more miserable!—I have no pleasure in
my memory, which impresses things upon me, that I could be
glad never were, or everlastingly to forget.
Well, said he, so much for that—But where are the
accounts (since you have kept so exact a journal of all that
has befallen you) previous to these here in my hand? My
father has them, sir, said I.—By whose means? said he—By Mr.
Williams's, said I. Well answered, said he. But cannot you
contrive to get me a sight of them? That would be pretty!
said I. I wish I could have contrived to have kept those you
have from your sight. Said he, I must see them, Pamela, or I
shall never be easy; for I must know how this correspondence
between you and Williams began: and if I can see them, it
shall be better for you, if they answer what these give me
hope they will.
I can tell you, sir, very faithfully, said I, what the
beginning was; for I was bold enough to be the beginner.
That won't do, said he; for though this may appear a
punctilio to you, to me it is of high importance. Sir, said
I, if you please to let me go to my father, I will send them
to you by any messenger you shall send for them. Will you
so? But I dare say, if you will write for them, they will
send them to you, without the trouble of such a journey to
yourself: and I beg you will.
I think, sir, said I, as you have seen all my former
letters through John's baseness, and now these, through your
faithful housekeeper's officious watchfulness, you might see
all the rest: But I hope you will not desire it, till I can
see how much my pleasing you in this particular will be of
use to myself.
You must trust to my honour for that. But tell me,
Pamela, said the sly gentleman, since I have seen these,
would you have voluntarily shewn me those, had they been in
your possession?
I was not aware of this inference, and said, Yes, truly,
sir, I think I should, if you commanded it. Well then,
Pamela, said he, as I am sure you have found means to
continue your journal, I desire, till the former part can
come, that you will shew me the succeeding.—O sir, sir, said
I, have you caught me so?—But indeed you must excuse me
there.
Why, said he, tell me truly, have you not continued your
account till now? Don't ask me, sir, said I. But I insist
upon your answer, replied he. Why then, sir, I will not tell
an untruth; I have.—That's my good girl! said he, I love
sincerity at my heart.—In another, sir, said I, I presume
you mean!—Well, said he, I'll allow you to be a little witty
upon me; because it is in you, and you cannot help it: but
you will greatly oblige me, to shew me voluntarily what you
have written. I long to see the particulars of your plot,
and your disappointment, where your papers leave off: for
you have so beautiful a manner, that it is partly that, and
partly my love for you, that has made me desirous of reading
all you write; though a great deal of it is against myself;
for which you must expect to suffer a little: and as I have
furnished you with the subject, I have a title to see the
fruits of your pen.—Besides, said he, there is such a pretty
air of romance, as you relate them, in your plots, and my
plots, that I shall be better directed in what manner to
wind up the catastrophe of the pretty novel.
If I was your equal, sir, said I, I should say this is a
very provoking way of jeering at the misfortunes you have
brought upon me.
O, said he, the liberties you have taken with my
character in your letters, sets us upon a par, at least in
that respect. Sir, I could not have taken those liberties,
if you had not given me the cause: and the cause, sir, you
know, is before the effect.
True, Pamela, said he; you chop logic very prettily. What
the deuse do we men go to school for? If our wits were equal
to women's, we might spare much time and pains in our
education: for nature teaches your sex, what, in a long
course of labour and study, ours can hardly attain to.—But,
indeed, every lady is not a Pamela.
You delight to banter your poor servant, said I.
Nay, continued he, I believe I must assume to myself half
the merit of your wit, too; for the innocent exercises you
have had for it, from me, have certainly sharpened your
invention.
Sir, said I, could I have been without those innocent
exercises, as you are pleased to call them, I should have
been glad to have been as dull as a beetle. But then,
Pamela, said he, I should not have loved you so well. But
then, sir, I should have been safe, easy, and happy.—Ay, may
be so, and may be not; and the wife, too, of some clouterly
plough-boy.
But then, sir, I should have been content and innocent;
and that's better than being a princess, and not so. And may
be not, said he; for if you had had that pretty face, some
of us keen fox-hunters should have found you out; and, in
spite of your romantic notions, (which then, too, perhaps,
would not have had so strong a place in your mind,) might
have been more happy with the ploughman's wife, than I have
been with my mother's Pamela. I hope, sir, said I, God would
have given me more grace.
Well, but, resumed he, as to these writings of yours,
that follow your fine plot, I must see them. Indeed, sir,
you must not, if I can help it. Nothing, said he, pleases me
better, than that, in all your arts, shifts, and stratagems,
you have had a great regard to truth; and have, in all your
little pieces of deceit, told very few wilful fibs. Now I
expect you'll continue this laudable rule in your
conversation with me.—Let me know then, where you have found
supplies of pen, ink, and paper, when Mrs. Jewkes was so
vigilant, and gave you but two sheets at a time?—Tell me
truth.
Why, sir, little did I think I should have such occasion
for them; but, when I went away from your house, I begged
some of each of good Mr. Longman, who gave me plenty. Yes,
yes, said he, it must be good Mr. Longman! All your
confederates are good, every one of them: but such of my
servants as have done their duty, and obeyed my orders, are
painted out by you as black as devils! nay, so am I too, for
that matter.
Sir, said I, I hope you won't be angry, but, saving
yourself, do you think they are painted worse than they
deserve? or worse than the parts they acted require?
You say, saving myself, Pamela; but is not that saying a
mere compliment to me, because I am present, and you are in
my hands? Tell me truly.—Good sir, excuse me; but I fancy I
might ask you, Why you should think so, if there was not a
little bit of conscience that told you, there was but too
much reason for it?
He kissed me, and said, I must either do thus, or be
angry with you; for you are very saucy, Pamela.—But, with
your bewitching chit-chat, and pretty impertinence, I will
not lose my question. Where did you hide your paper, pens,
and ink?
Some, sir, in one place, some in another; that I might
have some left, if others should be found.—That's a good
girl! said he; I love you for your sweet veracity. Now tell
me where it is you hide your written papers, your saucy
journal?—I must beg your excuse for that, sir, said I. But
indeed, answered he, you will not have it: for I will know,
and I will see them.—This is very hard, sir, said I; but I
must say, you shall not, if I can help it.
We were standing most of this time; but he then sat down,
and took me by both my hands, and said, Well said, my pretty
Pamela, if you can help it! But I will not let you help it.
Tell me, are they in your pocket? No, sir, said I; my heart
up at my mouth. Said he, I know you won't tell a downright
fib for the world: but for equivocation! no jesuit ever went
beyond you. Answer me then, Are they in neither of your
pockets? No, sir, said I. Are they not, said he, about your
stays? No, sir, replied I: But pray no more questions: for
ask me ever so much, I will not tell you.
O, said he, I have a way for that. I can do as they do
abroad, when the criminals won't confess; torture them till
they do.—But pray, sir, said I, is this fair, just, or
honest? I am no criminal; and I won't confess.
O, my girl! said he, many an innocent person has been put
to the torture. But let me know where they are, and you
shall escape the question, as they call it abroad.
Sir, said I, the torture is not used in England, and I
hope you won't bring it up. Admirably said! said the naughty
gentleman.—But I can tell you of as good a punishment. If a
criminal won't plead with us, here in England, we press him
to death, or till he does plead. And so now, Pamela, that is
a punishment shall certainly be yours, if you won't tell
without.
Tears stood in my eyes, and I said, This, sir, is very
cruel and barbarous.—No matter, said he; it is but like your
Lucifer, you know, in my shape! And, after I have done so
many heinous things by you as you think, you have no great
reason to judge so hardly of this; or, at least, it is but
of a piece with the rest.
But, sir, said I, (dreadfully afraid he had some notion
they were about me,) if you will be obeyed in this
unreasonable manner, though it is sad tyranny, to be
sure!—let me go up to them, and read them over again, and
you shall see so far as to the end of the sad story that
follows those you have.
I'll see them all, said he, down to this time, if you
have written so far:—Or, at least, till within this
week.—Then let me go up to them, said I, and see what I have
written, and to what day, to shew them to you; for you won't
desire to see every thing. But I will, replied he.—But say,
Pamela, tell me truth: Are they above? I was much
affrighted. He saw my confusion. Tell me truth, said he.
Why, sir, answered I, I have sometimes hid them under the
dry mould in the garden; sometimes in one place, sometimes
in another; and those you have in your hand, were several
days under a rose-bush, in the garden. Artful slut! said he,
What's this to my question?—Are they not about you?—If, said
I, I must pluck them out of my hiding-place behind the
wainscot, won't you see me?—Still more and more artful! said
he—Is this an answer to my question?—I have searched every
place above, and in your closet, for them, and cannot find
them; so I will know where they are. Now, said he, it is my
opinion they are about you; and I never undressed a girl in
my life; but I will now begin to strip my pretty Pamela; and
I hope I shall not go far before I find them.
I fell a crying, and said, I will not be used in this
manner. Pray, sir, said I, (for he began to unpin my
handkerchief,) consider! Pray sir, do!—And pray, said he, do
you consider. For I will see these papers. But may be, said
he, they are tied about your knees, with your garters, and
stooped. Was ever any thing so vile and so wicked?—I fell on
my knees, and said, What can I do? What can I do? If you'll
let me go up I'll fetch them to you. Will you, said he, on
your honour, let me see them uncurtailed, and not offer to
make them away; no not a single paper?—I will, sir.—On your
honour? Yes, sir. And so he let me go up stairs, crying
sadly for vexation to be so used. Sure nobody was ever so
served as I am!
I went to my closet, and there I sat me down, and could
not bear the thoughts of giving up my papers. Besides, I
must all undress me, in a manner, to untack them. So I writ
thus:
'SIR,
'To expostulate with such an arbitrary gentleman, I know
will signify nothing; and most hardly do you use the power
you so wickedly have got over me. I have heart enough, sir,
to do a deed that would make you regret using me thus; and I
can hardly bear it, and what I am further to undergo. But a
superior consideration withholds me; thank God, it does!—I
will, however, keep my word, if you insist upon it when you
have read this; but, sir, let me beg of you to give me time
till to-morrow morning, that I may just run them over, and
see what I put into your hands against me: and I will then
give my papers to you, without the least alteration, or
adding or diminishing: But I should beg still to be excused,
if you please: But if not, spare them to me but till
to-morrow morning: and this, so hardly am I used, shall be
thought a favour, which I shall be very thankful for.'
I guessed it would not be long before I heard from him
and he accordingly sent up Mrs. Jewkes for what I had
promised. So I gave her this note to carry to him. And he
sent word, that I must keep my promise, and he would give me
till morning; but that I must bring them to him, without his
asking again.
So I took off my under-coat, and with great trouble of
mind, unsewed them from it. And there is a vast quantity of
it. I will just slightly touch upon the subjects; because I
may not, perhaps, get them again for you to see.
They begin with an account of 'my attempting to get away
out of the window first, and then throwing my petticoat and
handkerchief into the pond. How sadly I was disappointed,
the lock of the back-door being changed. How, in trying to
climb over the door, I tumbled down, and was piteously
bruised; the bricks giving way, and tumbling upon me. How,
finding I could not get off, and dreading the hard usage I
should receive, I was so wicked as to think of throwing
myself into the water. My sad reflections upon this matter.
How Mrs. Jewkes used me upon this occasion, when she found
me. How my master had like to have been drowned in hunting;
and my concern for his danger, notwithstanding his usage of
me. Mrs. Jewkes's wicked reports, to frighten me, that I was
to be married to the ugly Swiss; who was to sell me on the
wedding-day to my master. Her vile way of talking to me,
like a London prostitute. My apprehensions of seeing
preparations made for my master's coming. Her causeless
fears that I was trying to get away again, when I had no
thoughts of it; and my bad usage upon it. My master's
dreadful arrival; and his hard, very hard treatment of me;
and Mrs. Jewkes's insulting of me. His jealousy of Mr.
Williams and me. How Mrs. Jewkes vilely instigated him to
wickedness.' And down to here, I put into one parcel, hoping
that would content him. But for fear it should not, I put
into another parcel the following; viz.
'A copy of his proposals to me, of a great parcel of
gold, and fine clothes and rings, and an estate of I can't
tell what a year; and 50l. a year for the life of both you,
my dear parents, to be his mistress; with an insinuation,
that, may be, he would marry me at the year's end: All sadly
vile: With threatenings, if I did not comply, that he would
ruin me, without allowing me any thing. A copy of my answer,
refusing all, with just abhorrence: But begging at last his
goodness towards me, and mercy on me, in the most moving
manner I could think of. An account of his angry behaviour,
and Mrs. Jewkes's wicked advice hereupon. His trying to get
me to his chamber; and my refusal to go. A deal of stuff and
chit-chat between me and the odious Mrs. Jewkes; in which
she was very wicked and very insulting. Two notes I wrote,
as if to be carried to church, to pray for his reclaiming,
and my safety; which Mrs. Jewkes seized, and officiously
shewed him. A confession of mine, that, notwithstanding his
bad usage, I could not hate him. My concern for Mr.
Williams. A horrid contrivance of my master's to ruin me;
being in my room, disguised in clothes of the maid's, who
lay with me and Mrs. Jewkes. How narrowly I escaped, (it
makes my heart ache to think of it still!) by falling into
fits. Mrs. Jewkes's detestable part in this sad affair. How
he seemed moved at my danger, and forbore his abominable
designs; and assured me he had offered no indecency. How ill
I was for a day or two after; and how kind he seemed. How he
made me forgive Mrs. Jewkes. How, after this, and great
kindness pretended, he made rude offers to me in the garden,
which I escaped. How I resented them.' Then I had written,
'How kindly he behaved himself to me; and how he praised me,
and gave me great hopes of his being good at last. Of the
too tender impression this made upon me; and how I began to
be afraid of my own weakness and consideration for him,
though he had used me so ill. How sadly jealous he was of
Mr. Williams; and how I, as justly could, cleared myself as
to his doubts on that score. How, just when he had raised me
up to the highest hope of his goodness, he dashed me sadly
again, and went off more coldly. My free reflections upon
this trying occasion.'
This brought down matters from Thursday, the 20th day of
my imprisonment, to Wednesday the 41st, and here I was
resolved to end, let what would come; for only Thursday,
Friday, and Saturday, remain to give an account of; and
Thursday he set out to a ball at Stamford; and Friday was
the gipsy story; and this is Saturday, his return from
Stamford. And truly, I shall have but little heart to write,
if he is to see all.
So these two parcels of papers I have got ready for him
against to-morrow morning. To be sure I have always used him
very freely in my writings, and shewed him no mercy; but yet
he must thank himself for it; for I have only writ truth;
and I wish he had deserved a better character at my hands,
as well for his own sake as mine.—So, though I don't know
whether ever you'll see what I write, I must say, that I
will go to bed, with remembering you in my prayers, as I
always do, and as I know you do me: And so, my dear parents,
good night.
Sunday morning.
I remembered what he said, of not being obliged to ask
again for my papers; and what I should be forced to do, and
could not help, I thought I might as well do in such a
manner as might shew I would not disoblige on purpose:
though I stomached this matter very heavily too. I had
therefore got in readiness my two parcels; and he, not going
to church in the morning, bid Mrs. Jewkes tell me he was
gone into the garden.
I knew that was for me to go to him; and so I went: for
how can I help being at his beck? which grieves me not a
little, though he is my master, as I may say; for I am so
wholly in his power, that it would do me no good to incense
him; and if I refused to obey him in little matters, my
refusal in greater would have the less weight. So I went
down to the garden; but as he walked in one walk, I took
another, that I might not seem too forward neither.
He soon 'spied me, and said, Do you expect to be courted
to come to me? Sir, said I, and crossed the walk to attend
him, I did not know but I should interrupt you in your
meditations this good day.
Was that the case, said he, truly, and from your heart?
Why, sir, said I, I don't doubt but you have very good
thoughts sometimes, though not towards me. I wish, said he,
I could avoid thinking so well of you as I do. But where are
the papers?—I dare say you had them about you yesterday; for
you say in those I have, that you will bury your writings in
the garden, for fear you should be searched, if you did not
escape. This, added he, gave me a glorious pretence to
search you; and I have been vexing myself all night, that I
did not strip you garment by garment, till I had found them.
O fie, sir, said I; let me not be scared, with hearing that
you had such a thought in earnest.
Well, said he, I hope you have not now the papers to give
me; for I had rather find them myself, I'll assure you.
I did not like this way of talk at all; and thinking it
best not to dwell upon it, said, Well, but, sir, you will
excuse me, I hope, giving up my papers.
Don't trifle with me, said he; Where are they?—I think I
was very good to you last night, to humour you as I did. If
you have either added or diminished, and have not strictly
kept your promise, woe be to you! Indeed, sir, said I, I
have neither added nor diminished. But there is the parcel
that goes on with my sad attempt to escape, and the terrible
consequences it had like to have been followed with. And it
goes down to the naughty articles you sent me. And as you
know all that has happened since, I hope these will satisfy
you.
He was going to speak; but I said, to drive him from
thinking of any more, And I must beg you, sir, to read the
matter favourably, if I have exceeded in any liberties of my
pen.
I think, said he, half-smiling, you may wonder at my
patience, that I can be so easy to read myself abused as I
am by such a saucy slut.—Sir, said I, I have wondered you
should be so desirous to see my bold stuff; and, for that
very reason, I have thought it a very good, or a very bad
sign. What, said he, is your good sign?—That it may have an
effect upon your temper, at last, in my favour, when you see
me so sincere. Your bad sign? Why, that if you can read my
reflections and observations upon your treatment of me, with
tranquillity, and not be moved, it is a sign of a very cruel
and determined heart. Now, pray, sir, don't be angry at my
boldness in telling you so freely my thoughts. You may,
perhaps, said he, be least mistaken, when you think of your
bad sign. God forbid! said I.
So I took out my papers; and said, Here, sir, they are.
But if you please to return them, without breaking the seal,
it will be very generous: and I will take it for a great
favour, and a good omen.
He broke the seal instantly, and opened them: So much for
your omen! replied he. I am sorry for it, said I, very
seriously; and was walking away. Whither now? said he. I was
going in, sir, that you might have time to read them, if you
thought fit. He put them into his pocket, and said, You have
more than these. Yes, sir: but all they contain, you know as
well as I.—But I don't know, said he, the light you put
things in; and so give them me, if you have not a mind to be
searched.
Sir, said I, I can't stay, if you won't forbear that ugly
world.—Give me then no reason for it. Where are the other
papers? Why, then, unkind sir, if it must be so, here they
are. And so I gave him, out of my pocket, the second parcel,
sealed up, as the former, with this superscription; From the
naughty articles, down, through sad attempts, to Thursday
the 42d day of my imprisonment. This is last Thursday, is
it? Yes, sir; but now you will see what I write, I will find
some other way to employ my time: for how can I write with
any face, what must be for your perusal, and not for those I
intended to read my melancholy stories?
Yes, said he, I would have you continue your penmanship
by all means; and, I assure you, in the mind I am in, I will
not ask you for any after these; except any thing very
extraordinary occurs. And I have another thing to tell you,
added he, that if you send for those from your father, and
let me read them, I may, very probably, give them all back
again to you. And so I desire you will do it.
This a little encourages me to continue my scribbling;
but, for fear of the worst, I will, when they come to any
bulk, contrive some way to hide them, if I can, that I may
protest I have them not about me, which, before, I could not
say of a truth; and that made him so resolutely bent to try
to find them upon me; for which I might have suffered
frightful indecencies.
He led me, then, to the side of the pond; and sitting
down on the slope, made me sit by him. Come, said he, this
being the scene of part of your project, and where you so
artfully threw in some of your clothes, I will just look
upon that part of your relation. Sir, said I, let me then
walk about, at a little distance; for I cannot bear the
thought of it. Don't go far, said he.
When he came, as I suppose, to the place where I
mentioned the bricks falling upon me, he got up, and walked
to the door, and looked upon the broken part of the wall;
for it had not been mended; and came back, reading on to
himself, towards me; and took my hand, and put it under his
arm.
Why, this, said he, my girl, is a very moving tale. It
was a very desperate attempt, and, had you got out, you
might have been in great danger; for you had a very bad and
lonely way; and I had taken such measures, that, let you
have been where you would, I should have had you.
You may see, sir, said I, what I ventured, rather than be
ruined; and you will be so good as hence to judge of the
sincerity of my profession, that my honesty is dearer to me
than my life. Romantic girl! said he, and read on.
He was very serious at my reflections, on what God had
enabled me to escape. And when he came to my reasonings
about throwing myself into the water, he said, Walk gently
before; and seemed so moved, that he turned away his face
from me; and I blessed this good sign, and began not so much
to repent at his seeing this mournful part of my story.
He put the papers in his pocket, when he had read my
reflections, and thanks for escaping from myself; and said,
taking me about the waist, O my dear girl! you have touched
me sensibly with your mournful relation, and your sweet
reflections upon it. I should truly have been very miserable
had it taken effect. I see you have been used too roughly;
and it is a mercy you stood proof in that fatal moment.
Then he most kindly folded me in his arms: Let us, say I
too, my Pamela, walk from this accursed piece of water; for
I shall not, with pleasure, look upon it again, to think how
near it was to have been fatal to my fair one. I thought,
added he, of terrifying you to my will, since I could not
move you by love; and Mrs. Jewkes too well obeyed me, when
the terrors of your return, after your disappointment, were
so great, that you had hardly courage to withstand them; but
had like to have made so fatal a choice, to escape the
treatment you apprehended.
O sir, said I, I have reason, I am sure, to bless my dear
parents, and my good lady, your mother, for giving me
something of a religious education; for, but for that, and
God's grace, I should, more than upon one occasion, have
attempted, at least, a desperate act: and I the less wonder
how poor creatures, who have not the fear of God before
their eyes, and give way to despondency, cast themselves
into perdition.
Come, kiss me, said he, and tell me you forgive me for
pushing you into so much danger and distress. If my mind
hold, and I can see those former papers of yours, and that
these in my pocket give me no cause to altar my opinion, I
will endeavour to defy the world and the world's censures,
and make my Pamela amends, if it be in the power of my whole
life, for all the hardships I have made her undergo.
All this looked well; but you shall see how strangely it
was all turned. For this sham-marriage then came into my
mind again; and I said, Your poor servant is far unworthy of
this great honour; for what will it be but to create envy to
herself, and discredit to you? Therefore, sir, permit me to
return to my poor parents, and that is all I have to ask.
He was in a fearful passion then. And is it thus, said
he, in my fond conceding moments, that I am to be despised
and answered?—Precise, perverse, unseasonable Pamela! begone
from my sight! and know as well how to behave in a hopeful
prospect, as in a distressful state; and then, and not till
then, shalt thou attract the shadow of my notice.
I was startled, and going to speak: but he stamped with
his foot, and said, Begone! I tell you: I cannot bear this
stupid romantic folly.
One word, said I; but one word, I beseech you, sir.
He turned from me in great wrath, and took down another
alley, and so I went, with a very heavy heart; and fear I
was too unseasonable, just at a time when he was so
condescending: but if it was a piece of art of his side, as
I apprehended, to introduce the sham-wedding, (and, to be
sure, he is very full of stratagem and art,) I think I was
not so much to blame.
So I went up to my closet; and wrote thus far, while he
walked about till dinner was ready; and he is now sat down
to it, as I hear by Mrs. Jewkes, very sullen, thoughtful,
and out of humour; and she asks, What I have done to
him?—Now, again, I dread to see him!—When will my fears be
over?
Three o'clock.
Well, he continues exceeding wrath. He has ordered his
travelling chariot to be got ready with all speed. What is
to come next, I wonder!
Sure I did not say so much!—But see the lordliness of a
high condition!—A poor body must not put in a word, when
they take it into their heads to be angry! What a fine time
a person of an equal condition would have of it, if she were
even to marry such a one!—His poor dear mother spoiled him
at first. Nobody must speak to him or contradict him, as I
have heard, when he was a child; and so he has not been used
to be controlled, and cannot bear the least thing that
crosses his violent will. This is one of the blessings
attending men of high condition! Much good may do them with
their pride of birth, and pride of fortune! say I:—All that
it serves for, as far as I can see, is, to multiply their
disquiets, and every body's else that has to do with them.
So, so! where will this end?—Mrs. Jewkes has been with me
from him, and she says, I must get out of the house this
moment. Well, said I, but whither am I to be carried next?
Why, home, said she, to your father and mother. And can it
be? said I; No, no, I doubt I shall not be so happy as
that!—To be sure some bad design is on foot again! To be
sure it is!—Sure, sure, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, he has not
found out some other housekeeper worse than you! She was
very angry, you may well think. But I know she can't be made
worse than she is.
She came up again. Are you ready? said she. Bless me,
said I, you are very hasty! I have heard of this not a
quarter of an hour ago. But I shall be soon ready; for I
have but little to take with me, and no kind friends in this
house to take leave of, to delay me. Yet, like a fool, I
can't help crying.—Pray, said I, just step down, and ask, if
I may not have my papers.
So, I am quite ready now, against she comes up with an
answer; and so I will put up these few writings in my bosom,
that I have left.
I don't know what to think—nor how to judge; but I shall
never believe I am with you, till I am on my knees before
you, begging both your blessings. Yet I am sorry he is so
angry with me! I thought I did not say so much!
There is, I see, the chariot drawn out, the horses too,
the grim Colbrand going to get on horseback. What will be
the end of all this?
Monday.
Well, where this will end, I cannot say. But here I am,
at a little poor village, almost such a one as yours! I
shall learn the name of it by and by: and Robin assures me,
he has orders to carry me to you, my dear father and mother.
O that he may say truth, and not deceive me again! But
having nothing else to do, and I am sure I shall not sleep a
wink to-night, if I was to go to bed, I will write my time
away, and take up my story where I left off, on Sunday
afternoon.
Mrs. Jewkes came up to me, with this answer about my
papers: My master says, he will not read them yet, lest he
should be moved by any thing in them to alter his
resolution. But if he should think it worth while to read
them, he will send them to you, afterwards, to your
father's. But, said she, here are your guineas that I
borrowed: for all is over now with you, I find.
She saw me cry, and said, Do you repent?—Of what? said
I.—Nay, I can't tell, replied she; but, to be sure, he has
had a taste of your satirical flings, or he would not be so
angry. O! continued she, and held up her hand, thou hast a
spirit!—But I hope it will now be brought down.—I hope so
too, said I.
Well, added I, I am ready. She lifted up the window, and
said, I'll call Robin to take your portmanteau: Bag and
baggage! proceeded she, I'm glad you're going. I have no
words, said I, to throw away upon you, Mrs. Jewkes; but,
making her a very low courtesy, I most heartily thank you
for all your virtuous civilities to me. And so adieu; for
I'll have no portmanteau, I'll assure you, nor any thing but
these few things that I brought with me in my handkerchief,
besides what I have on. For I had all this time worn my own
bought clothes, though my master would have had it otherwise
often: but I had put up paper, ink, and pens, however.
So down I went, and as I passed by the parlour, she
stepped in, and said, Sir, you have nothing to say to the
girl before she goes? I heard him reply, though I did not
see him, Who bid you say, the girl, Mrs. Jewkes, in that
manner? She has offended only me.
I beg your honour's pardon, said the wretch; but if I was
your honour, she should not, for all the trouble she has
cost you, go away scot-free. No more of this, as I told you
before, said he: What! when I have such proof, that her
virtue is all her pride, shall I rob her of that?—No, added
he, let her go, perverse and foolish as she is; but she
deserves to go honest, and she shall go so!
I was so transported with this unexpected goodness, that
I opened the door before I knew what I did; and said,
falling on my knees at the door, with my hands folded, and
lifted up, O thank you, thank your honour, a million of
times!—May God bless you for this instance of your goodness
to me! I will pray for you as long as I live, and so shall
my dear father and mother. And, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, I will
pray for you too, poor wicked wretch that you are!
He turned from me, and went into his closet, and shut the
door. He need not have done so; for I would not have gone
nearer to him!
Surely I did not say so much, to incur all this
displeasure.
I think I was loath to leave the house. Can you believe
it?—What could be the matter with me, I wonder?—I felt
something so strange, and my heart was so lumpish!—I wonder
what ailed me!—But this was so unexpected!—I believe that
was all!—Yet I am very strange still. Surely, surely, I
cannot be like the old murmuring Israelites, to long after
the onions and garlick of Egypt, when they had suffered
there such heavy bondage?—I'll take thee, O lumpish,
contradictory, ungovernable heart! to severe task, for this
thy strange impulse, when I get to my dear father's and
mother's; and if I find any thing in thee that should not
be, depend upon it thou shalt be humbled, if strict
abstinence, prayer, and mortification, will do it!
But yet, after all, this last goodness of his has touched
me too sensibly. I wish I had not heard it, almost; and yet,
methinks, I am glad I did; for I should rejoice to think the
best of him, for his own sake.
Well, and so I went out to the chariot, the same that
brought me down. So, Mr. Robert, said I, here I am again! a
poor sporting-piece for the great! a mere tennis-ball of
fortune! You have your orders, I hope. Yes, madam, said he.
Pray, now, said I, don't madam me, nor stand with your hat
off to such a one as I. Had not my master, said he, ordered
me not to be wanting in respect to you, I would have shewn
you all I could. Well, said I, with my heart full, that's
very kind, Mr. Robert.
Mr. Colbrand, mounted on horseback, with pistols before
him, came up to me, as soon as I got in, with his hat off
too. What, monsieur! said I, are you to go with me?—Part of
the way, he said, to see you safe. I hope that's kind too,
in you, Mr. Colbrand, said I.
I had nobody to wave my handkerchief to now, nor to take
leave of; and so I resigned myself to my contemplations,
with this strange wayward heart of mine, that I never found
so ungovernable and awkward before.
So away drove the chariot!—And when I had got out of the
elm-walk, and into the great road, I could hardly think but
I was in a dream all the time. A few hours before, in my
master's arms almost, with twenty kind things said to me,
and a generous concern for the misfortunes he had brought
upon me; and only by one rash half-word exasperated against
me, and turned out of doors, at an hour's warning; and all
his kindness changed to hate! And I now, from three o'clock
to five, several miles off! But if I am going to you, all
will be well again, I hope.
Lack-a-day, what strange creatures are men! gentlemen, I
should say, rather! For, my dear deserving good mother,
though poverty be both your lots, has had better hap, and
you are, and have always been, blest in one another!—Yet
this pleases me too; he was so good, he would not let Mrs.
Jewkes speak ill of me, and scorned to take her odious
unwomanly advice. O, what a black heart has this poor
wretch! So I need not rail against men so much; for my
master, bad as I have thought him, is not half so bad as
this woman.—To be sure she must be an atheist!—Do you think
she is not?
We could not reach further than this little poor place
and sad alehouse, rather than inn; for it began to be dark,
and Robin did not make so much haste as he might have done;
and he was forced to make hard shift for his horses.
Mr. Colbrand, and Robert too, are very civil. I see he
has got my portmanteau lashed behind the coach. I did not
desire it; but I shall not come quite empty.
A thorough riddance of me, I see!—Bag and baggage! as
Mrs. Jewkes says. Well, my story surely would furnish out a
surprising kind of novel, if it was to be well told.
Mr. Robert came up to me, just now, and begged me to eat
something: I thanked him; but said, I could not eat. I bid
him ask Mr. Colbrand to walk up; and he came; but neither of
them would sit; nor put their hats on. What mockado is this,
to such a poor soul as I! I asked them, if they were at
liberty to tell me the truth of what they were to do with
me? If not, I would not desire it.—They both said, Robin was
ordered to carry me to my father's; and Mr. Colbrand was to
leave me within ten miles, and then strike off for the other
house, and wait till my master arrived there. They both
spoke so solemnly, that I could not but believe them.
But when Robin went down, the other said, he had a letter
to give me next day at noon, when we baited, as we were to
do, at Mrs. Jewkes's relation's.—May I not, said I, beg the
favour to see it to-night? He seemed so loath to deny me,
that I have hopes I shall prevail on him by and by.
Well, my dear father and mother, I have got the letter,
on great promises of secrecy, and making no use of it. I
will try if I can open it without breaking the seal, and
will take a copy of it by and by; for Robin is in and out:
there being hardly any room in this little house for one to
be long alone. Well, this is the letter:
'When these lines are delivered to you, you will be far
on your way to your father and mother, where you have so
long desired to be: and, I hope, I shall forbear thinking of
you with the least shadow of that fondness my foolish heart
had entertained for you: I bear you, however, no ill will;
but the end of my detaining you being over, I would not that
you should tarry with me an hour more than needed, after the
ungenerous preference you gave, at a time that I was
inclined to pass over all other considerations, for an
honourable address to you; for well I found the tables
entirely turned upon me, and that I was in far more danger
from you, than you were from me; for I was just upon
resolving to defy all the censures of the world, and to make
you my wife.
'I will acknowledge another truth: That, had I not parted
with you as I did, but permitted you to stay till I had read
your journal, reflecting, as I doubt not I shall find it,
and till I had heard your bewitching pleas in your own
behalf, I feared I could not trust myself with my own
resolution. And this is the reason, I frankly own, that I
have determined not to see you, nor hear you speak; for well
I know my weakness in your favour.
'But I will get the better of this fond folly: Nay, I
hope I have already done it, since it was likely to cost me
so dear. And I write this to tell you, that I wish you well
with all my heart, though you have spread such mischief
through my family.—And yet I cannot but say that I could
wish you would not think of marrying in haste; and,
particularly, that you would not have this cursed
Williams.—But what is all this to me now?—Only, my weakness
makes me say, That as I had already looked upon you as mine,
and you have so soon got rid of your first husband; so you
will not refuse, to my memory, the decency that every common
person observes, to pay a twelvemonth's compliment, though
but a mere compliment, to my ashes.
'Your papers shall be faithfully returned you; and I have
paid so dear for my curiosity in the affection they have
rivetted upon me for you, that you would look upon yourself
amply revenged if you knew what they have cost me.
'I thought of writing only a few lines; but I have run
into length. I will now try to recollect my scattered
thoughts, and resume my reason; and shall find trouble
enough to replace my affairs, and my own family, and to
supply the chasms you have made in it: For, let me tell you,
though I can forgive you, I never can my sister, nor my
domestics; for my vengeance must be wreaked somewhere.
'I doubt not your prudence in forbearing to expose me any
more than is necessary for your own justification; and for
that I will suffer myself to be accused by you, and will
also accuse myself, if it be needful. For I am, and will
ever be, 'Your affectionate well-wisher.'
This letter, when I expected some new plot, has affected
me more than any thing of that sort could have done. For
here is plainly his great value for me confessed, and his
rigorous behaviour accounted for in such a manner, as
tortures me much. And all this wicked gipsy story is, as it
seems, a forgery upon us both, and has quite ruined me: For,
O my dear parents, forgive me! but I found, to my grief,
before, that my heart was too partial in his favour; but now
with so much openness, so much affection; nay, so much
honour too, (which was all I had before doubted, and kept me
on the reserve,) I am quite overcome. This was a happiness,
however, I had no reason to expect. But, to be sure, I must
own to you, that I shall never be able to think of any body
in the world but him.—Presumption! you will say; and so it
is: But love is not a voluntary thing: Love, did I say?—But
come, I hope not:—At least it is not, I hope, gone so far as
to make me very uneasy: For I know not how it came, nor when
it began; but crept, crept it has, like a thief, upon me;
and before I knew what was the matter, it looked like love.
I wish, since it is too late, and my lot determined, that
I had not had this letter, nor heard him take my part to
that vile woman; for then I should have blessed myself in
having escaped so happily his designing arts upon my virtue:
but now my poor mind is all topsy-turvied, and I have made
an escape to be more a prisoner.
But I hope, since thus it is, that all will be for the
best; and I shall, with your prudent advice, and pious
prayers, be able to overcome this weakness.—But, to be sure,
my dear sir, I will keep a longer time than a twelvemonth,
as a true widow, for a compliment, and more than a
compliment, to your ashes! O the dear word!—How kind, how
moving, how affectionate is the word! O why was I not a
duchess, to shew my gratitude for it! But must labour under
the weight of an obligation, even had this happiness
befallen me, that would have pressed me to death, and which
I never could return by a whole life of faithful love, and
cheerful obedience.
O forgive your poor daughter!—I am sorry to find this
trial so sore upon me; and that all the weakness of my weak
sex, and tender years, who never before knew what it was to
be so touched, is come upon me, and too mighty to be
withstood by me.—But time, prayer, and resignation to God's
will, and the benefits of your good lessons, and examples, I
hope, will enable me to get over this so heavy a trial.
O my treacherous, treacherous heart! to serve me thus!
and give no notice to me of the mischiefs thou wast about to
bring upon me!—But thus foolishly to give thyself up to the
proud invader, without ever consulting thy poor mistress in
the least! But thy punishment will be the first and the
greatest; and well deservest thou to smart, O perfidious
traitor! for giving up so weakly thy whole self, before a
summons came; and to one, too, who had used me so hardly;
and when, likewise, thou hadst so well maintained thy post
against the most violent and avowed, and, therefore, as I
thought, more dangerous attacks!
After all, I must either not shew you this my weakness,
or tear it out of my writing. Memorandum: to consider of
this, when I get home.
Monday morning, eleven o'clock.
We are just come in here, to the inn kept by Mrs.
Jewkes's relation. The first compliment I had, was in a very
impudent manner, How I liked the 'squire?—I could not help
saying, Bold, forward woman! Is it for you, who keep an inn,
to treat passengers at this rate? She was but in jest, she
said, and asked pardon: And she came, and begged excuse
again, very submissively, after Robin and Mr. Colbrand had
talked to her a little.
The latter here, in great form, gave me, before Robin,
the letter which I had given him back for that purpose. And
I retired, as if to read it; and so I did; for I think I
can't read it too often; though, for my peace of mind's
sake, I might better try to forget it. I am sorry, methinks,
I cannot bring you back a sound heart; but, indeed, it is an
honest one, as to any body but me; for it has deceived
nobody else: Wicked thing that it is!
More and more surprising things still——
Just as I had sat down, to try to eat a bit of victuals,
to get ready to pursue my journey, came in Mr. Colbrand in a
mighty hurry. O madam! madam! said he, here be de groom from
de 'Squire B——, all over in a lather, man and horse! O how
my heart went pit-a-pat! What now, thought I, is to come
next! He went out, and presently returned with a letter for
me, and another, enclosed, for Mr. Colbrand. This seemed
odd, and put me all in a trembling. So I shut the door; and
never, sure, was the like known! found the following
agreeable contents:—
'In vain, my Pamela, do I find it to struggle against my
affection for you. I must needs, after you were gone,
venture to entertain myself with your Journal, when I found
Mrs. Jewkes's bad usage of you, after your dreadful
temptations and hurts; and particularly your generous
concern for me, on hearing how narrowly I escaped drowning;
(though my death would have been your freedom, and I had
made it your interest to wish it); and your most agreeable
confession in another place, that, notwithstanding all my
hard usage of you, you could not hate me; and that expressed
in so sweet, so soft, and so innocent a manner, that I
flatter myself you may be brought to love me: (together with
the other parts of your admirable Journal:) I began to
repent my parting with you; but, God is my witness! for no
unlawful end, as you would call it; but the very contrary:
and the rather, as all this was improved in your favour, by
your behaviour at leaving my house: For, oh! that melodious
voice praying for me at your departure, and thanking me for
my rebuke to Mrs. Jewkes, still hangs upon my ears, and
delights my memory. And though I went to bed, I could not
rest; but about two got up, and made Thomas get one of the
best horses ready, in order to set out to overtake you,
while I sat down to write this to you.
'Now, my dear Pamela, let me beg of you, on the receipt
of this, to order Robin to drive you back again to my house.
I would have set out myself, for the pleasure of bearing you
company back in the chariot; but am really indisposed; I
believe, with vexation that I should part thus with my
soul's delight, as I now find you are, and must be, in spite
of the pride of my own heart.
'You cannot imagine the obligation your return will lay
me under to your goodness; and yet, if you will not so far
favour me, you shall be under no restraint, as you will see
by my letter enclosed to Colbrand; which I have not sealed,
that you may read it. But spare me, my dearest girl! the
confusion of following you to your father's; which I must
do, if you persist to go on; for I find I cannot live a day
without you.
'If you are the generous Pamela I imagine you to be, (for
hitherto you have been all goodness, where it has not been
merited,) let me see, by this new instance, the further
excellence of your disposition; let me see you can forgive
the man who loves you more than himself; let me see, by it,
that you are not prepossessed in any other person's favour:
And one instance more I would beg, and then I am all
gratitude; and that is, that you would despatch Monsieur
Colbrand with a letter to your father, assuring him that all
will end happily; and to desire, that he will send to you,
at my house, the letters you found means, by Williams's
conveyance, to send him. And when I have all my proud, and,
perhaps, punctilious doubts answered, I shall have nothing
to do, but to make you happy, and be so myself. For I must
be 'Yours, and only yours.'
'Monday morn, near three o'clock.'
O my exulting heart! how it throbs in my bosom, as if it
would reproach me for so lately upbraiding it for giving way
to the love of so dear a gentleman!—But take care thou art
not too credulous neither, O fond believer! Things that we
wish, are apt to gain a too ready credence with us. This
sham-marriage is not yet cleared up: Mrs. Jewkes, the vile
Mrs. Jewkes! may yet instigate the mind of this master: His
pride of heart, and pride of condition, may again take
place: And a man that could in so little a space, first love
me, then hate, then banish me his house, and send me away
disgracefully; and now send for me again, in such
affectionate terms, may still waver, may still deceive thee.
Therefore will I not acquit thee yet, O credulous,
fluttering, throbbing mischief! that art so ready to believe
what thou wishest! And I charge thee to keep better guard
than thou hast lately done, and lead me not to follow too
implicitly thy flattering and desirable impulses. Thus
foolishly dialogued I with my heart; and yet, all the time,
this heart is Pamela.
I opened the letter to Monsieur Colbrand; which was in
these words:—
'MONSIEUR,
'I am sure you'll excuse the trouble I give you. I have, for
good reasons, changed my mind; and I have besought it, as a
favour, that Mrs. Andrews will return to me the moment Tom
reaches you. I hope, for the reasons I have given her, she
will have the goodness to oblige me. But, if not, you are to
order Robin to pursue his directions, and set her down at
her father's door. If she will oblige me in her return,
perhaps she'll give you a letter to her father, for some
papers to be delivered to you for her; which you'll be so
good, in that case, to bring to her here: But if she will
not give you such a letter, you'll return with her to me, if
she please to favour me so far; and that with all
expedition, that her health and safety will permit; for I am
pretty much indisposed; but hope it will be but slight, and
soon go off. I am 'Yours, etc.'
'On second thoughts, let Tom go forward with Mrs.
Andrews's letter, if she pleases to give one; and you return
with her, for her safety.'
Now this is a dear generous manner of treating me. O how
I love to be generously used!—Now, my dear parents, I wish I
could consult you for your opinions, how I should act.
Should I go back, or should I not?—I doubt he has got too
great hold in my heart, for me to be easy presently, if I
should refuse: And yet this gipsy information makes me
fearful.
Well, I will, I think, trust in his generosity! Yet is it
not too great a trust?—especially considering how I have
been used!—But then that was while he avowed his bad
designs; and now he gives great hope of his good ones. And I
may be the means of making many happy, as well as myself, by
placing a generous confidence in him.
And then, I think, he might have sent to Colbrand, or to
Robin, to carry me back, whether I would or not. And how
different is his behaviour to that! And would it not look as
if I was prepossessed, as he calls it, if I don't oblige
him; and as if it was a silly female piece of pride, to make
him follow me to my father's; and as if I would use him
hardly in my turn, for his having used me ill in his? Upon
the whole, I resolved to obey him; and if he uses me ill
afterwards, double will be his ungenerous guilt!—Though hard
will be my lot, to have my credulity so justly blamable, as
it will then seem. For, to be sure, the world, the wise
world, that never is wrong itself, judges always by events.
And if he should use me ill, then I shall be blamed for
trusting him: If well, O then I did right, to be sure!—But
how would my censurers act in my case, before the event
justifies or condemns the action, is the question?
Then I have no notion of obliging by halves; but of doing
things with a grace, as one may say, where they are to be
done; and so I wrote the desired letter to you, assuring
you, that I had before me happier prospects than ever I had;
and hoped all would end well: And that I begged you would
send me, by the bearer, Mr. Thomas, my master's groom, those
papers, which I had sent you by Mr. Williams's conveyance:
For that they imported me much, for clearing up a point in
my conduct, that my master was desirous to know, before he
resolved to favour me, as he had intended.—But you will have
that letter, before you can have this; for I would not send
you this without the preceding; which now is in my master's
hands.
And so, having given the letter to Mr. Thomas for him to
carry to you, when he had baited and rested after his great
fatigue, I sent for Monsieur Colbrand, and Robin, and gave
to the former his letter; and when he had read it, I said,
You see how things stand. I am resolved to return to our
master; and as he is not so well as were to be wished, the
more haste you make the better: and don't mind my fatigue,
but consider only yourselves, and the horses. Robin, who
guessed the matter, by his conversation with Thomas, (as I
suppose,) said, God bless you, madam, and reward you, as
your obligingness to my good master deserves; and may we all
live to see you triumph over Mrs. Jewkes!
I wondered to hear him say so; for I was always careful
of exposing my master, or even that naughty woman, before
the common servants. But yet I question whether Robin would
have said this, if he had not guessed, by Thomas's message,
and my resolving to return, that I might stand well with his
master. So selfish are the hearts of poor mortals, that they
are ready to change as favour goes!
So they were not long getting ready; and I am just
setting out, back again: and I hope I shall have no reason
to repent it.
Robin put on very vehemently; and when we came to the
little town, where we lay on Sunday night, he gave his
horses a bait, and said, he would push for his master's that
night, as it would be moon-light, if I should not be too
much fatigued because there was no place between that and
the town adjacent to his master's, fit to put up at, for the
night. But Monsieur Colbrand's horse beginning to give way,
made a doubt between them: wherefore I said, (hating to be
on the road,) if it could be done, I should bear it well
enough, I hoped; and that Monsieur Colbrand might leave his
horse, when it failed, at some house, and come into the
chariot. This pleased them both; and, about twelve miles
short, he left the horse, and took off his spurs and
holsters, etc. and, with abundance of ceremonial excuses,
came into the chariot; and I sat the easier for it; for my
bones ached sadly with the jolting, and so many miles
travelling in so few hours, as I have done, from Sunday
night, five o'clock. But, for all this, it was eleven
o'clock at night, when we came to the village adjacent to my
master's; and the horses began to be very much tired, and
Robin too: but I said, It would be pity to put up only three
miles short of the house.
So about one we reached the gate; but every body was
a-bed. But one of the helpers got the keys from Mrs. Jewkes,
and opened the gates; and the horses could hardly crawl into
the stable. And I, when I went to get out of the chariot,
fell down, and thought I had lost the use of my limbs.
Mrs. Jewkes came down with her clothes huddled on, and
lifted up her hands and eyes, at my return; but shewed more
care of the horses than of me. By that time the two maids
came; and I made shift to creep in, as well as I could.
It seems my poor master was very ill indeed, and had been
upon the bed most part of the day; and Abraham (who
succeeded John) sat up with him. And he was got into a fine
sleep, and heard not the coach come in, nor the noise we
made; for his chamber lies towards the garden,—on the other
side of the house. Mrs. Jewkes said, He had a feverish
complaint, and had been blooded; and, very prudently,
ordered Abraham, when he awaked, not to tell him I was come,
for fear of surprising him, and augmenting his fever; nor,
indeed, to say any thing of me, till she herself broke it to
him in the morning, as she should see how he was.
So I went to bed with Mrs. Jewkes, after she had caused
me to drink almost half a pint of burnt wine, made very rich
and cordial, with spices; which I found very refreshing, and
set me into a sleep I little hoped for.
Tuesday morning.
Getting up pretty early, I have written thus far, while
Mrs. Jewkes lies snoring in bed, fetching up her last
night's disturbance. I long for her rising, to know how my
poor master does. 'Tis well for her she can sleep so purely.
No love, but for herself, will ever break her rest, I am
sure. I am deadly sore all over, as if I had been soundly
beaten. I did not think I could have lived under such
fatigue.
Mrs. Jewkes, as soon as she got up, went to know how my
master did, and he had had a good night; and, having drank
plentifully of sack whey, had sweated much; so that his
fever had abated considerably. She said to him, that he must
not be surprised, and she would tell him news. He asked,
What? And she said, I was come. He raised himself up in his
bed; Can it be? said he—What, already!—She told him I came
last night. Monsieur Colbrand coming to inquire of his
health, he ordered him to draw near him, and was highly
pleased with the account he gave him of the journey, my
readiness to come back, and my willingness to reach home
that night. And he said, Why, these tender fair ones, I
think, bear fatigue better than us men. But she is very
good, to give me such an instance of her readiness to oblige
me. Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, take great care of her
health! and let her be a-bed all day. She told him I had
been up these two hours. Ask her, said he, if she will be so
good as to make me a visit: If she won't, I'll rise, and go
to her. Indeed, sir, said she, you must be still; and I'll
go to her. But don't urge her too much, said he, if she be
unwilling.
She came to me, and told me all the above; and I said, I
would most willingly wait upon him; for, indeed, I longed to
see him, and was much grieved he was so ill.—So I went down
with her. Will she come? said he, as I entered the room.
Yes, sir, said we; and she said, at the first word, Most
willingly.—Sweet excellence! said he.
As soon as he saw me, he said, O my beloved Pamela! you
have made me quite well. I'm concerned to return my
acknowledgments to you in so unfit a place and manner; but
will you give me your hand? I did, and he kissed it with
great eagerness. Sir, said I, you do me too much honour!—I
am sorry you are so ill.—I can't be ill, said he, while you
are with me. I am very well already.
Well, said he, and kissed my hand again, you shall not
repent this goodness. My heart is too full of it to express
myself as I ought. But I am sorry you have had such a
fatiguing time of it.—Life is no life without you! If you
had refused me, and yet I had hardly hopes you would oblige
me, I should have had a severe fit of it, I believe; for I
was taken very oddly, and knew not what to make of myself:
but now I shall be well instantly. You need not, Mrs.
Jewkes, added he, send for the doctor from Stamford, as we
talked yesterday; for this lovely creature is my doctor, as
her absence was my disease.
He begged me to sit down by his bed-side, and asked me,
if I had obliged him with sending for my former packet? I
said I had, and hoped it would be brought. He said it was
doubly kind.
I would not stay long because of disturbing him. And he
got up in the afternoon, and desired my company; and seemed
quite pleased, easy, and much better. He said, Mrs. Jewkes,
after this instance of my good Pamela's obligingness in her
return, I am sure we ought to leave her entirely at her own
liberty; and pray, if she pleases to take a turn in our
chariot, or in the garden, or to the town, or wherever she
will, let her be left at liberty, and asked no questions;
and do you do all in your power to oblige her. She said she
would, to be sure.
He took my hand, and said, One thing I will tell you,
Pamela, because I know you will be glad to hear it, and yet
not care to ask me: I had, before you went, taken Williams's
bond for the money; for how the poor man had behaved I can't
tell, but he could get no bail; and if I have no fresh
reason given me, perhaps I shall not exact the payment; and
he has been some time at liberty, and now follows his
school; but, methinks, I could wish you would not see him at
present.
Sir, said I, I will not do any thing to disoblige you
wilfully; and I am glad he is at liberty, because I was the
occasion of his misfortunes. I durst say no more, though I
wanted to plead for the poor gentleman; which, in gratitude,
I thought I ought, when I could do him service. I said, I am
sorry, sir, Lady Davers, who loves you so well, should have
incurred your displeasure, and that there should be any
variance between your honour and her; I hope it was not on
my account. He took out of his waistcoat pocket, as he sat
in his gown, his letter-case, and said, Here, Pamela, read
that when you go up stairs, and let me have your thoughts
upon it; and that will let you into the affair.
He said he was very heavy of a sudden, and would lie
down, and indulge for that day; and if he was better in the
morning, would take an airing in the chariot. And so I took
my leave for the present, and went up to my closet, and read
the letter he was pleased to put into my hands; which is as
follows:—
'BROTHER,
'I am very uneasy at what I hear of you; and must write,
whether it please you or not, my full mind. I have had some
people with me, desiring me to interpose with you; and they
have a greater regard for your honour, than, I am sorry to
say it, you have yourself. Could I think, that a brother of
mine would so meanly run away with my late dear mother's
waiting-maid, and keep her a prisoner from all her friends,
and to the disgrace of your own? But I thought, when you
would not let the wench come to me on my mother's death,
that you meant no good.—I blush for you, I'll assure you.
The girl was an innocent, good girl; but I suppose that's
over with her now, or soon will. What can you mean by this,
let me ask you? Either you will have her for a kept
mistress, or for a wife. If the former, there are enough to
be had without ruining a poor wench that my mother loved,
and who really was a very good girl: and of this you may be
ashamed. As to the other, I dare say you don't think of it;
but if you should, you would be utterly inexcusable.
Consider, brother, that ours is no upstart family; but is as
ancient as the best in the kingdom! and, for several
hundreds of years, it has never been known, that the heirs
of it have disgraced themselves by unequal matches: And you
know you have been sought to by some of the best families in
the nation, for your alliance. It might be well enough, if
you were descended of a family of yesterday, or but a remove
or two from the dirt you seem so fond of. But, let me tell
you, that I, and all mine, will renounce you for ever, if
you can descend so meanly; and I shall be ashamed to be
called your sister. A handsome man, as you are, in your
person; so happy in the gifts of your mind, that every body
courts your company; and possessed of such a noble and clear
estate; and very rich in money besides, left you by the best
of fathers and mothers, with such ancient blood in your
veins, untainted! for you to throw away yourself thus, is
intolerable; and it would be very wicked in you to ruin the
wench too. So that I beg you will restore her to her
parents, and give her 100L. or so, to make her happy in some
honest fellow of her own degree; and that will be doing
something, and will also oblige and pacify
'Your much grieved sister.'
'If I have written too sharply, consider it is my love to
you, and the shame you are bringing upon yourself; and I
wish this may have the effect upon you, intended by your
very loving sister.'
This is a sad letter, my dear father and mother; and one
may see how poor people are despised by the proud and the
rich! and yet we were all on a foot originally: And many of
these gentry, that brag of their ancient blood, would be
glad to have it as wholesome, and as really untainted, as
ours!—Surely these proud people never think what a short
stage life is; and that, with all their vanity; a time is
coming, when they shall be obliged to submit to be on a
level with us: And true said the philosopher, when he looked
upon the skull of a king, and that of a poor man, that he
saw no difference between them. Besides, do they not know,
that the richest of princes, and the poorest of beggars, are
to have one great and tremendous judge, at the last day; who
will not distinguish between them, according to their
circumstances in life?—But, on the contrary, may make their
condemnations the greater, as their neglected opportunities
were the greater? Poor souls! how do I pity their pride!—O
keep me, Heaven! from their high condition, if my mind shall
ever be tainted with their vice! or polluted with so cruel
and inconsiderate a contempt of the humble estate which they
behold with so much scorn!
But, besides, how do these gentry know, that, supposing
they could trace back their ancestry for one, two, three, or
even five hundred years, that then the original stems of
these poor families, though they have not kept such
elaborate records of their good-for nothingness, as it often
proves, were not still deeper rooted?—And how can they be
assured, that one hundred years hence, or two, some of those
now despised upstart families may not revel in their
estates, while their descendants may be reduced to the
others' dunghills!—And, perhaps, such is the vanity, as well
as changeableness, of human estates, in their turns set up
for pride of family, and despise the others!
These reflections occurred to my thoughts, made serious
by my master's indisposition, and this proud letter of the
lowly Lady Davers, against the high-minded Pamela. Lowly, I
say, because she could stoop to such vain pride; and
high-minded I, because I hope I am too proud ever to do the
like!—But, after all, poor wretches that we be! we scarce
know what we are, much less what we shall be!—But, once more
pray I to be kept from the sinful pride of a high estate.
On this occasion I recall the following lines, which I
have read; where the poet argues in a much better manner:—
"——————Wise Providence
Does various parts for various minds dispense:
The meanest slaves, or those who hedge and ditch,
Are useful, by their sweat, to feed the rich.
The rich, in due return, impart their store;
Which comfortably feeds the lab'ring poor.
Nor let the rich the lowest slave disdain:
He's equally a link of Nature's chain:
Labours to the same end, joins in one view;
And both alike the will divine pursue;
And, at the last, are levell'd, king and slave,
Without distinction, in the silent grave."
Wednesday morning.
My master sent me a message just now, that he was so much
better, that he would take a turn, after breakfast, in the
chariot, and would have me give him my company. I hope I
shall know how to be humble, and comport myself as I should
do, under all these favours.
Mrs. Jewkes is one of the most obliging creatures in the
world; and I have such respects shewn me by every one, as if
I was as great as Lady Davers—But now, if this should all
end in the sham-marriage!—It cannot be, I hope. Yet the
pride of greatness and ancestry, and such-like, is so
strongly set out in Lady Davers's letter, that I cannot
flatter myself to be so happy as all these desirable
appearances make for me. Should I be now deceived, I should
be worse off than ever. But I shall see what light this new
honour will procure me!—So I'll get ready. But I won't, I
think, change my garb. Should I do it, it would look as if I
would be nearer on a level with him: and yet, should I not,
it might be thought a disgrace to him: but I will, I think,
open the portmanteau, and, for the first time since I came
hither, put on my best silk nightgown. But then that will be
making myself a sort of right to the clothes I had
renounced; and I am not yet quite sure I shall have no other
crosses to encounter. So I will go as I am; for, though
ordinary, I am as clean as a penny, though I say it. So I'll
e'en go as I am, except he orders otherwise. Yet Mrs. Jewkes
says, I ought to dress as fine as I can.—But I say, I think
not. As my master is up, and at breakfast, I will venture
down to ask him how he will have me be.
Well, he is kinder and kinder, and, thank God, purely
recovered!—How charmingly he looks, to what he did
yesterday! Blessed be God for it!
He arose, and came to me, and took me by the hand, and
would set me down by him; and he said, My charming girl
seemed going to speak. What would you say?—Sir, said I, (a
little ashamed,) I think it is too great an honour to go
into the chariot with you. No, my dear Pamela, said he; the
pleasure of your company will be greater than the honour of
mine; and so say no more on that head.
But, sir, said I, I shall disgrace you to go thus. You
would grace a prince, my fair-one, said the good, kind, kind
gentleman! in that dress, or any you shall choose: And you
look so pretty, that, if you shall not catch cold in that
round-eared cap, you shall go just as you are. But, sir,
said I, then you'll be pleased to go a bye-way, that it
mayn't be seen you do so much honor to your servant. O my
good girl! said he, I doubt you are afraid of yourself being
talked of, more than me: for I hope by degrees to take off
the world's wonder, and teach them to expect what is to
follow, as a due to my Pamela.
O the dear good man! There's for you, my dear father and
mother!—Did I not do well now to come back?—O could I get
rid of my fears of this sham-marriage, (for all this is not
yet inconsistent with that frightful scheme,) I should be
too happy!
So I came up, with great pleasure, for my gloves: and now
wait his kind commands. Dear, dear sir! said I to myself, as
if I was speaking to him, for God's sake let me have no more
trials and reverses; for I could not bear it now, I verily
think!
At last the welcome message came, that my master was
ready; and so I went down as fast as I could; and he, before
all the servants, handed me in, as if I was a lady; and then
came in himself. Mrs. Jewkes begged he would take care he
did not catch cold, as he had been ill. And I had the pride
to hear his new coachman say, to one of his fellow-servants,
They are a charming pair, I am sure! 'tis pity they should
be parted!—O my dear father and mother! I fear your girl
will grow as proud as any thing! And, especially, you will
think I have reason to guard against it, when you read the
kind particulars I am going to relate.
He ordered dinner to be ready by two; and Abraham, who
succeeds John, went behind the coach. He bid Robin drive
gently, and told me, he wanted to talk to me about his
sister Davers, and other matters. Indeed, at first setting
out he kissed me a little too often, that he did; and I was
afraid of Robin's looking back, through the fore-glass, and
people seeing us, as they passed; but he was exceedingly
kind to me, in his words, as well. At last, he said,
You have, I doubt not, read, over and over, my sister's
saucy letter; and find, as I told you, that you are no more
obliged to her than I am. You see she intimates, that some
people had been with her; and who should they be, but the
officious Mrs. Jervis, and Mr. Longman, and Jonathan! and so
that has made me take the measures I did in dismissing them
my service.—I see, said he, you are going to speak on their
behalfs; but your time is not come to do that, if ever I
shall permit it.
My sister, says he, I have been beforehand with; for I
have renounced her. I am sure I have been a kind brother to
her; and gave her to the value of 3000L. more than her share
came to by my father's will, when I entered upon my estate.
And the woman, surely, was beside herself with passion and
insolence, when she wrote me such a letter; for well she
knew I would not bear it. But you must know, Pamela, that
she is much incensed, that I will give no ear to a proposal
of hers, of a daughter of my Lord ——, who, said he, neither
in person, or mind, or acquirements, even with all her
opportunities, is to be named in a day with my Pamela. But
yet you see the plea, my girl, which I made to you before,
of the pride of condition, and the world's censure, which, I
own, sticks a little too close with me still: for a woman
shines not forth to the public as man; and the world sees
not your excellencies and perfections: If it did, I should
entirely stand acquitted by the severest censures. But it
will be taken in the lump; that here is Mr. B——, with such
and such an estate, has married his mother's waiting-maid:
not considering there is not a lady in the kingdom that can
out-do her, or better support the condition to which she
will be raised, if I should marry her. And, said he, putting
his arm round me, and again kissing me, I pity my dear girl
too, for her part in this censure; for, here will she have
to combat the pride and slights of the neighbouring gentry
all around us. Sister Davers, you see, will never be
reconciled to you. The other ladies will not visit you; and
you will, with a merit superior to them all, be treated as
if unworthy their notice. Should I now marry my Pamela, how
will my girl relish all this? Won't these be cutting things
to my fair-one? For, as to me, I shall have nothing to do,
but, with a good estate in possession, to brazen out the
matter of my former pleasantry on this subject, with my
companions of the chase, the green, and the assemblee; stand
their rude jests for once or twice, and my fortune will
create me always respect enough, I warrant you. But, I say,
what will my poor girl do, as to her part, with her own sex?
For some company you must keep. My station will not admit it
to be with my servants; and the ladies will fly your
acquaintance; and still, though my wife, will treat you as
my mother's waiting-maid.—What says my girl to this?
You may well guess, my dear father and mother, how
transporting these kind, these generous and condescending
sentiments were to me!—I thought I had the harmony of the
spheres all around me; and every word that dropped from his
lips was as sweet as the honey of Hybla to me.—Oh! sir, said
I, how inexpressibly kind and good is all this! Your poor
servant has a much greater struggle than this to go through,
a more knotty difficulty to overcome.
What is that? said he, a little impatiently: I will not
forgive your doubts now.—No, sir, said I, I cannot doubt;
but it is, how I shall support, how I shall deserve your
goodness to me.—Dear girl! said he, and hugged me to his
breast, I was afraid you would have made me angry again; but
that I would not be, because I see you have a grateful
heart; and this your kind and cheerful return, after such
cruel usage as you had experienced in my house, enough to
make you detest the place, has made me resolve to bear any
thing in you, but doubts of my honour, at a time when I am
pouring out my soul, with a true and affectionate ardour,
before you.
But, good sir, said I, my greatest concern will be for
the rude jests you will have yourself to encounter with, for
thus stooping beneath yourself. For, as to me, considering
my lowly estate, and little merit, even the slights and
reflections of the ladies will be an honour to me: and I
shall have the pride to place more than half their ill will
to their envy at my happiness. And if I can, by the most
cheerful duty, and resigned obedience, have the pleasure to
be agreeable to you, I shall think myself but too happy, let
the world say what it will.
He said, You are very good, my dearest girl! But how will
you bestow your time, when you will have no visits to
receive or pay? No parties of pleasure to join in? No
card-tables to employ your winter evenings; and even, as the
taste is, half the day, summer and winter? And you have
often played with my mother, too, and so know how to perform
a part there, as well as in the other diversions: and I'll
assure you, my girl, I shall not desire you to live without
such amusements, as my wife might expect, were I to marry a
lady of the first quality.
O, sir, said I, you are all goodness! How shall I bear
it?—But do you think, sir, in such a family as yours, a
person whom you shall honour with the name of mistress of
it, will not find useful employments for her time, without
looking abroad for any others?
In the first place, sir, if you will give me leave, I
will myself look into such parts of the family economy, as
may not be beneath the rank to which I shall have the honour
of being exalted, if any such there can be; and this, I
hope, without incurring the ill will of any honest servant.
Then, sir, I will ease you of as much of your family
accounts, as I possibly can, when I have convinced you that
I am to be trusted with them; and you know, sir, my late
good lady made me her treasurer, her almoner, and every
thing.
Then, sir, if I must needs be visiting or visited, and
the ladies won't honour me so much, or even if they would
now and then, I will visit, if your goodness will allow me
so to do, the sick poor in the neighbourhood around you; and
administer to their wants and necessities, in such matters
as may not be hurtful to your estate, but comfortable to
them; and entail upon you their blessings, and their prayers
for your dear health and welfare.
Then I will assist your housekeeper, as I used to do, in
the making jellies, comfits, sweetmeats, marmalades,
cordials; and to pot, and candy, and preserve for the uses
of the family; and to make, myself, all the fine linen of it
for yourself and me.
Then, sir, if you will sometimes indulge me with your
company, I will take an airing in your chariot now and then:
and when you shall return home from your diversions on the
green, or from the chase, or where you shall please to go, I
shall have the pleasure of receiving you with duty, and a
cheerful delight; and, in your absence, count the moments
till you return; and you will, may be, fill up some part of
my time, the sweetest by far! with your agreeable
conversation, for an hour or two now and then; and be
indulgent to the impertinent overflowings of my grateful
heart, for all your goodness to me.
The breakfasting-time, the preparations for dinner, and
sometimes to entertain your chosen friends, and the company
you shall bring home with you, gentlemen, if not ladies, and
the supperings, will fill up a great part of the day in a
very necessary manner.
And, may be, sir, now and then a good-humoured lady will
drop in; and, I hope, if they do, I shall so behave myself,
as not to add to the disgrace you will have brought upon
yourself: for, indeed, I will be very circumspect, and try
to be as discreet as I can; and as humble too, as shall be
consistent with your honour.
Cards, 'tis true, I can play at, in all the usual games
that our sex delight in; but this I am not fond of, nor
shall ever desire to play, unless to induce such ladies, as
you may wish to see, not to abandon your house for want of
an amusement they are accustomed to.
Music, which our good lady taught me, will fill up some
intervals, if I should have any.
And then, sir, you know, I love reading and scribbling;
and though all the latter will be employed in the family
accounts, between the servants and me, and me and your good
self: yet reading, at proper times, will be a pleasure to
me, which I shall be unwilling to give up, for the best
company in the world, except yours. And, O sir! that will
help to polish my mind, and make me worthier of your company
and conversation; and, with the explanations you will give
me, of what I shall not understand, will be a sweet
employment, and improvement too.
But one thing, sir, I ought not to forget, because it is
the chief: My duty to God will, I hope, always employ some
good portion of my time, with thanks for his superlative
goodness to me; and to pray for you and myself: for you,
sir, for a blessing on you, for your great goodness to such
an unworthy creature: for myself, that I may be enabled to
discharge my duty to you, and be found grateful for all the
blessings I shall receive at the hands of Providence, by
means of your generosity and condescension.
With all this, sir, said I, can you think I shall be at a
loss to pass my time? But, as I know, that every slight to
me, if I come to be so happy, will be, in some measure, a
slight to you, I will beg of you, sir, not to let me go very
fine in dress; but appear only so, as that you may not be
ashamed of it after the honour I shall have of being called
by your worthy name: for well I know, sir, that nothing so
much excites the envy of my own sex, as seeing a person
above them in appearance, and in dress. And that would bring
down upon me an hundred saucy things, and low-born brats,
and I can't tell what!
There I stopped; for I had prattled a great deal too much
so early: and he said, clasping me to him, Why stops my dear
Pamela?—Why does she not proceed? I could dwell upon your
words all the day long; and you shall be the directress of
your own pleasures, and your own time, so sweetly do you
choose to employ it: and thus shall I find some of my own
bad actions atoned for by your exemplary goodness, and God
will bless me for your sake.
O, said he, what pleasure you give me in this sweet
foretaste of my happiness! I will now defy the saucy, busy
censurers of the world; and bid them know your excellence,
and my happiness, before they, with unhallowed lips, presume
to judge of my actions, and your merit!—And let me tell you,
my Pamela, that I can add my hopes of a still more pleasing
amusement, and what your bashful modesty would not permit
you to hint; and which I will no otherwise touch upon, lest
it should seem, to your nicety, to detract from the present
purity of my good intentions, than to say, I hope to have
superadded to all these, such an employment, as will give me
a view of perpetuating my happy prospects, and my family at
the same time; of which I am almost the only male.
I blushed, I believe; yet could not be displeased at the
decent and charming manner with which he insinuated this
distant hope: And oh! judge for me, how my heart was
affected with all these things!
He was pleased to add another charming reflection, which
shewed me the noble sincerity of his kind professions. I do
own to you, my Pamela, said he, that I love you with a purer
flame than ever I knew in my whole life; a flame to which I
was a stranger; and which commenced for you in the garden;
though you, unkindly, by your unseasonable doubts, nipped
the opening bud, while it was too tender to bear the cold
blasts of slight or negligence. And I know more sincere joy
and satisfaction in this sweet hour's conversation with you,
than all the guilty tumults of my former passion ever did,
or (had even my attempts succeeded) ever could have afforded
me.
O, sir, said I, expect not words from your poor servant,
equal to these most generous professions. Both the means,
and the will, I now see, are given to you, to lay me under
an everlasting obligation. How happy shall I be, if, though
I cannot be worthy of all this goodness and condescension, I
can prove myself not entirely unworthy of it! But I can only
answer for a grateful heart; and if ever I give you cause,
wilfully, (and you will generously allow for involuntary
imperfections,) to be disgusted with me, may I be an outcast
from your house and favour, and as much repudiated, as if
the law had divorced me from you!
But sir, continued I, though I was so unseasonable as I
was in the garden, you would, I flatter myself, had you then
heard me, have pardoned my imprudence, and owned I had some
cause to fear, and to wish to be with my poor father and
mother: and this I the rather say, that you should not think
me capable of returning insolence for your goodness; or
appearing foolishly ungrateful to you, when you was so kind
to me.
Indeed, Pamela, said he, you gave me great uneasiness;
for I love you too well not to be jealous of the least
appearance of your indifference to me, or preference to any
other person, not excepting your parents themselves. This
made me resolve not to hear you; for I had not got over my
reluctance to marriage; and a little weight, you know, turns
the scale, when it hangs in an equal balance. But yet, you
see, that though I could part with you, while my anger held,
yet the regard I had then newly professed for your virtue,
made me resolve not to offer to violate it; and you have
seen likewise, that the painful struggle I underwent when I
began to reflect, and to read your moving journal, between
my desire to recall you, and my doubt whether you would
return, (though yet I resolved not to force you to it,) had
like to have cost me a severe illness: but your kind and
cheerful return has dispelled all my fears, and given me
hope, that I am not indifferent to you; and you see how your
presence has chased away my illness.
I bless God for it, said I; but since you are so good as
to encourage me, and will not despise my weakness, I will
acknowledge, that I suffered more than I could have
imagined, till I experienced it, in being banished your
presence in so much anger; and the more still was I
affected, when you answered the wicked Mrs. Jewkes so
generously in my favour, at my leaving your house. For this,
sir, awakened all my reverence for you; and you saw I could
not forbear, not knowing what I did, to break boldly in upon
you, and acknowledge your goodness on my knees. 'Tis true,
my dear Pamela, said he, we have sufficiently tortured one
another; and the only comfort that can result from it, will
be, reflecting upon the matter coolly and with pleasure,
when all these storms are overblown, (as I hope they now
are,) and we sit together secured in each other's good
opinion, recounting the uncommon gradations by which we have
ascended to the summit of that felicity, which I hope we
shall shortly arrive at.
Meantime, said the good gentleman, let me hear what my
dear girl would have said in her justification, could I have
trusted myself with her, as to her fears, and the reason of
her wishing herself from me, at a time that I had begun to
shew my fondness for her, in a manner that I thought would
have been agreeable to her and virtue.
I pulled out of my pocket the gipsy letter; but I said,
before I shewed it to him, I have this letter, sir, to shew
you, as what, I believe, you will allow must have given me
the greatest disturbance: but, first, as I know not who is
the writer, and it seems to be in a disguised hand, I would
beg it as a favour, that, if you guess who it is, which I
cannot, it may not turn to their prejudice, because it was
written, very probably, with no other view, than to serve
me.
He took it, and read it. And it being signed Somebody, he
said, Yes, this is indeed from Somebody; and, disguised as
the hand is, I know the writer: Don't you see, by the
setness of some of these letters, and a little secretary cut
here and there, especially in that c, and that r, that it is
the hand of a person bred in the law-way? Why, Pamela, said
he, 'tis old Longman's hand: an officious rascal as he
is!—But I have done with him. O sir, said I, it would be too
insolent in me to offer (so much am I myself overwhelmed
with your goodness,) to defend any body that you are angry
with: Yet, sir, so far as they have incurred your
displeasure for my sake, and for no other want of duty or
respect, I could wish—But I dare not say more.
But, said he, as to the letter and the information it
contains: Let me know, Pamela, when you received this? On
the Friday, sir, said I, that you were gone to the wedding
at Stamford.—How could it be conveyed to you, said he,
unknown to Mrs. Jewkes, when I gave her such a strict charge
to attend you, and you had promised me, that you would not
throw yourself in the way of such intelligence? For, said
he, when I went to Stamford, I knew, from a private
intimation given me, that there would be an attempt made to
see you, or give you a letter, by somebody, if not to get
you away; but was not certain from what quarter, whether
from my sister Davers, Mrs. Jervis, Mr. Longman, or John
Arnold, or your father; and as I was then but struggling
with myself, whether to give way to my honourable
inclinations, or to free you, and let you go to your father,
that I might avoid the danger I found myself in of the
former; (for I had absolutely resolved never to wound again
even your ears with any proposals of a contrary nature;)
that was the reason I desired you to permit Mrs. Jewkes to
be so much on her guard till I came back, when I thought I
should have decided this disputed point within myself,
between my pride and my inclinations.
This, good sir, said I, accounts well to me for your
conduct in that case, and for what you said to me and Mrs.
Jewkes on that occasion: And I see more and more how much I
may depend upon your honour and goodness to me.—But I will
tell you all the truth. And then I recounted to him the
whole affair of the gipsy, and how the letter was put among
the loose grass, etc. And he said, The man who thinks a
thousand dragons sufficient to watch a woman, when her
inclination takes a contrary bent, will find all too little;
and she will engage the stones in the street, or the grass
in the field, to act for her, and help on her
correspondence. If the mind, said he, be not engaged, I see
there is hardly any confinement sufficient for the body; and
you have told me a very pretty story; and, as you never gave
me any reason to question your veracity, even in your
severest trials, I make no doubt of the truth of what you
have now mentioned: and I will, in my turn, give you such a
proof of mine, that you shall find it carry a conviction
with it.
You must know, then, my Pamela, that I had actually
formed such a project, so well informed was this old
rascally Somebody! and the time was fixed for the very
person described in this letter to be here; and I had
thought he should have read some part of the ceremony (as
little as was possible, to deceive you) in my chamber; and
so I hoped to have you mine upon terms that then would have
been much more agreeable to me than real matrimony. And I
did not in haste intend you the mortification of being
undeceived; so that we might have lived for years, perhaps,
very lovingly together; and I had, at the same time, been at
liberty to confirm or abrogate it as I pleased.
O sir, said I, I am out of breath with the thoughts of my
danger! But what good angel prevented the execution of this
deep-laid design?
Why, your good angel, Pamela, said he; for when I began
to consider, that it would have made you miserable, and me
not happy; that if you should have a dear little one, it
would be out of my own power to legitimate it, if I should
wish it to inherit my estate; and that, as I am almost the
last of my family, and most of what I possess must descend
to a strange line, and disagreeable and unworthy persons;
notwithstanding that I might, in this case, have issue of my
own body; when I further considered your untainted virtue,
what dangers and trials you had undergone by my means, and
what a world of troubles I had involved you in, only because
you were beautiful and virtuous, which had excited all my
passion for you; and reflected also upon your tried prudence
and truth! I, though I doubted not effecting this my last
plot, resolved to overcome myself; and, however I might
suffer in struggling with my affection for you, to part with
you, rather than to betray you under so black a veil.
Besides, said he, I remember how much I had exclaimed
against and censured an action of this kind, that had been
attributed to one of the first men of the law, and of the
kingdom, as he afterwards became; and that it was but
treading in a path that another had marked out for me; and,
as I was assured, with no great satisfaction to himself,
when he came to reflect; my foolish pride was a little
piqued with this, because I loved to be, if I went out of
the way, my own original, as I may call it. On all these
considerations it was, that I rejected this project, and
sent word to the person, that I had better considered of the
matter, and would not have him come, till he heard further
from me: And, in this suspense I suppose, some of your
confederates, Pamela, (for we have been a couple of
plotters, though your virtue and merit have procured you
faithful friends and partisans, which my money and promises
could hardly do,) one way or other got knowledge of it, and
gave you this notice; but, perhaps, it would have come too
late, had not your white angel got the better of my black
one, and inspired me with resolutions to abandon the
project, just as it was to have been put into execution. But
yet I own, that, from these appearances, you were but too
well justified in your fears, on this odd way of coming at
this intelligence; and I have only one thing to blame you
for, that though I was resolved not to hear you in your own
defence, yet, as you have so ready a talent at your pen, you
might have cleared your part of this matter up to me by a
line or two; and when I had known what seeming good grounds
you had for pouring cold water on a young flame, that was
just then rising to an honourable expansion, should not have
imputed it, as I was apt to do, to unseasonable insult for
my tenderness to you, on one hand; to perverse nicety, on
the other; or to (what I was most alarmed by, and concerned
for) prepossession for some other person: And this would
have saved us both much fatigue, I of mind, you of body.
And, indeed, sir, said I, of mind too; and I could not
better manifest this, than by the cheerfulness with which I
obeyed your recalling me to your presence.
Ay, that, my dear Pamela, said he, and clasped me in his
arms, was the kind, the inexpressibly kind action, that has
rivetted my affections to you, and obliges me, in this free
and unreserved manner, to pour my whole soul into your
bosom.
I said, I had the less merit in this my return, because I
was driven, by an irresistible impulse to it; and could not
help it, if I would.
This, said he, (and honoured me by kissing my hand,) is
engaging, indeed; if I may hope, that my Pamela's gentle
inclination for her persecutor was the strongest motive to
her return; and I so much value a voluntary love in the
person I would wish for my wife, that I would have even
prudence and interest hardly named in comparison with it:
And can you return me sincerely the honest compliment I now
make you?—In the choice I have made, it is impossible I
should have any view to my interest. Love, true love, is the
only motive by which I am induced. And were I not what I am,
could you give me the preference to any other you know in
the world, notwithstanding what has passed between us? Why,
said I, should your so much obliged Pamela refuse to answer
this kind question? Cruel as I have thought you, and
dangerous as your views to my honesty have been; you, sir,
are the only person living that ever was more than
indifferent to me: and before I knew this to be what I blush
now to call it, I could not hate you, or wish you ill,
though, from my soul, the attempts you made were shocking,
and most distasteful to me.
I am satisfied, my Pamela, said he; nor shall I want to
see those papers that you have kindly written for to your
father; though I still wish to see them too, for the sake of
the sweet manner in which you relate what has passed, and to
have before me the whole series of your sufferings, that I
may learn what degree of kindness may be sufficient to
recompense you for them.
In this manner, my dear father and mother, did your happy
daughter find herself blessed by her generous master! An
ample recompense for all her sufferings did I think this
sweet conversation only. A hundred tender things he
expressed besides, that though they never can escape my
memory, yet would be too tedious to write down. Oh, how I
blessed God, and, I hope, ever shall, for all his gracious
favours to his unworthy handmaid! What a happy change is
this! And who knows but my kind, my generous master, may put
it in my power, when he shall see me not quite unworthy of
it, to be a means, without injuring him, to dispense around
me, to many persons, the happy influences of the condition
to which I shall be, by his kind favour, exalted? Doubly
blest shall I be, in particular, if I can return the
hundredth part of the obligations I owe to such honest good
parents, to whose pious instructions and examples, under
God, I owe all my present happiness, and future prospects.—O
the joy that fills my mind on these proud hopes! on these
delightful prospects!—It is too mighty for me, and I must
sit down to ponder all these things, and to admire and bless
the goodness of that Providence, which has, through so many
intricate mazes, made me tread the paths of innocence, and
so amply rewarded me for what it has itself enabled me to
do! All glory to God alone be ever given for it, by your
poor enraptured daughter!——
I will now continue my most pleasing relation.
As the chariot was returning home from this sweet airing,
he said, From all that has passed between us in this
pleasing turn, my Pamela will see, and will believe, that
the trials of her virtue are all over from me: But, perhaps,
there will be some few yet to come of her patience and
humility. For I have, at the earnest importunity of Lady
Darnford, and her daughters, promised them a sight of my
beloved girl: And so I intend to have their whole family,
and Lady Jones, and Mrs. Peters's family, to dine with me
once in a few days. And, since I believe you would hardly
choose, at present, to grace the table on the occasion, till
you can do it in your own right, I should be glad you would
not refuse coming down to us if I should desire it; for I
would preface our nuptials, said the dear gentleman! O what
a sweet word was that!—with their good opinion of your
merits: and to see you, and your sweet manner, will be
enough for that purpose; and so, by degrees, prepare my
neighbours for what is to follow: And they already have your
character from me, and are disposed to admire you.
Sir, said I, after all that has passed, I should be
unworthy, if I could not say, that I can have no will but
yours: And however awkwardly I shall behave in such company,
weighed down with a sense of your obligations on one side,
and my own unworthiness, with their observations on the
other, I will not scruple to obey you.
I am obliged to you, Pamela, said he, and pray be only
dressed as you are; for since they know your condition, and
I have told them the story of your present dress, and how
you came by it, one of the young ladies begs it as a favour,
that they may see you just as you are: and I am the rather
pleased it should be so, because they will perceive you owe
nothing to dress, but make a much better figure with your
own native stock of loveliness, than the greatest ladies
arrayed in the most splendid attire, and adorned with the
most glittering jewels.
O sir, said I, your goodness beholds your poor servant in
a light greatly beyond her merit! But it must not be
expected, that others, ladies especially, will look upon me
with your favourable eyes: but, nevertheless, I should be
best pleased to wear always this humble garb, till you, for
your own sake, shall order it otherwise: for, oh, sir, said
I, I hope it will be always my pride to glory most in your
goodness! and it will be a pleasure to me to shew every one,
that, with respect to my happiness in this life, I am
entirely the work of your bounty; and to let the world see
from what a lowly original you have raised me to honours,
that the greatest ladies would rejoice in.
Admirable Pamela! said he; excellent girl!—Surely thy
sentiments are superior to those of all thy sex!—I might
have addressed a hundred fine ladies; but never, surely,
could have had reason to admire one as I do you.
As, my dear father and mother, I repeat these generous
sayings, only because they are the effect of my master's
goodness, being far from presuming to think I deserve one of
them; so I hope you will not attribute it to my vanity; for
I do assure you, I think I ought rather to be more humble,
as I am more obliged: for it must be always a sign of a poor
condition, to receive obligations one cannot repay; as it is
of a rich mind, when it can confer them without expecting or
needing a return. It is, on one side, the state of the human
creature, compared, on the other, to the Creator; and so,
with due deference, may his beneficence be said to be
Godlike, and that is the highest that can be said.
The chariot brought us home at near the hour of two; and,
blessed be God, my master is pure well, and cheerful; and
that makes me hope he does not repent him of his late
generous treatment of me. He handed me out of the chariot,
and to the parlour, with the same goodness, that he shewed
when he put me into it, before several of the servants. Mrs.
Jewkes came to inquire how he did. Quite well, Mrs. Jewkes,
said he; quite well: I thank God, and this good girl, for
it!—I am glad of it, said she; but I hope you are not the
worse for my care, and my doctoring of you!—No, but the
better, Mrs. Jewkes, said he; you have much obliged me by
both.
Then he said, Mrs. Jewkes, you and I have used this good
girl very hardly.—I was afraid, sir, said she, I should be
the subject of her complaints.—I assure you, said he, she
has not opened her lips about you. We have had a quite
different subject to talk of; and I hope she will forgive us
both: You especially she must; because you have done nothing
but by my orders. But I only mean, that the necessary
consequence of those orders has been very grievous to my
Pamela: And now comes our part to make her amends, if we
can.
Sir, said she, I always said to madam (as she called me),
that you was very good, and very forgiving. No, said he, I
have been stark naught; and it is she, I hope, will be very
forgiving. But all this preamble is to tell you, Mrs.
Jewkes, that now I desire you'll study to oblige her, as
much as (to obey me) you was forced to disoblige her before.
And you'll remember, that in every thing she is to be her
own mistress.
Yes, said she, and mine too, I suppose, sir? Ay, said the
generous gentleman, I believe it will be so in a little
time.—Then, said she, I know how it will go with me! And so
put her handkerchief to her eyes.—Pamela, said my master,
comfort poor Mrs. Jewkes.
This was very generous, already to seem to put her in my
power: and I took her by the hand, and said, I shall never
take upon me, Mrs. Jewkes, to make a bad use of any
opportunities that may be put into my hands by my generous
master; nor shall I ever wish to do you any disservice, if I
might: for I shall consider, that what you have done, was in
obedience to a will which it will become me also to submit
to and so, if the effects of our obedience may be different,
yet as they proceed from one cause, that must be always
reverenced by me.
See there, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, we are both in
generous hands; and indeed, if Pamela did not pardon you, I
should think she but half forgave me, because you acted by
my instructions.—Well, said she, God bless you both
together, since it must be so; and I will double my
diligence to oblige my lady, as I find she will soon be.
O my dear father and mother! now pray for me on another
score; for fear I should grow too proud, and be giddy and
foolish with all these promising things, so soothing to the
vanity of my years and sex. But even to this hour can I
pray, that God would remove from me all these delightful
prospects, if they were likely so to corrupt my mind, as to
make me proud and vain, and not acknowledge, with thankful
humility, the blessed Providence which has so visibly
conducted me through the dangerous paths I have trod, to
this happy moment.
My master was pleased to say, that he thought I might as
well dine with him, since he was alone: But I begged he
would excuse me, for fear, as I said, such excess of
goodness and condescension, all at once, should turn my
head;—and that he would, by slower degrees, bring on my
happiness, lest I should not know how to bear it.
Persons that doubt themselves, said he, seldom do amiss:
And if there was any fear of what you say, you could not
have it in your thoughts: for none but the presumptuous, the
conceited, and the thoughtless, err capitally. But,
nevertheless, said he, I have such an opinion of your
prudence, that I shall generally think what you do right,
because it is you that do it.
Sir, said I, your kind expressions shall not be thrown
away upon me, if I can help it; for they will task me with
the care of endeavouring to deserve your good opinion, and
your approbation, as the best rule of my conduct.
Being then about to go up stairs, Permit me, sir, said I,
(looking about me with some confusion, to see that nobody
was there,) thus on my knees to thank you, as I often wanted
to do in the chariot, for all your goodness to me, which
shall never, I hope, be cast away upon me. And so I had the
boldness to kiss his hand.
I wonder, since, how I came to be so forward. But what
could I do?—My poor grateful heart was like a too full
river, which overflows its banks: and it carried away my
fear and my shamefacedness, as that does all before it on
the surface of its waters!
He clasped me in his arms with transport, and
condescendingly kneeled by me, and kissing me, said, O my
dear obliging good girl, on my knees, as you on yours, I vow
to you everlasting truth and fidelity! and may God but bless
us both with half the pleasures that seem to be before us,
and we shall have no reason to envy the felicity of the
greatest princes!—O sir, said I, how shall I support so much
goodness! I am poor, indeed, in every thing, compared to
you! and how far, very far, do you, in every generous way,
leave me behind you!
He raised me, and, as I bent towards the door, led me to
the stairs foot, and, saluting me there again, left me to go
up to my closet, where I threw myself on my knees in
raptures of joy, and blessed that gracious God, who had thus
changed my distress to happiness, and so abundantly rewarded
me for all the sufferings I had passed through.—And oh, how
light, how very light, do all those sufferings now appear,
which then my repining mind made so grievous to me!—Hence,
in every state of life, and in all the changes and chances
of it, for the future, will I trust in Providence, who knows
what is best for us, and frequently turns the very evils we
most dread, to be the causes of our happiness, and of our
deliverance from greater.—My experiences, young as I am, as
to this great point of reliance on God, are strong, though
my judgment in general may be weak and uninformed: but
you'll excuse these reflections, because they are your
beloved daughter's; and, so far as they are not amiss,
derive themselves from the benefit of yours and my late good
lady's examples and instructions.
I have written a vast deal in a little time; and shall
only say, to conclude this delightful Wednesday, That in the
afternoon my good master was so well, that he rode out on
horseback, and came home about nine at night; and then
stepped up to me, and, seeing me with pen and ink before me
in my closet, said, I come only to tell you I am very well,
my Pamela: and since I have a letter or two to write, I will
leave you to proceed in yours, as I suppose that was your
employment, (for I had put by my papers at his coming up,)
and so he saluted me, bid me good night, and went down; and
I finished up to this place before I went to bed. Mrs.
Jewkes told me, if it was more agreeable to me, she would be
in another room; but I said, No thank you, Mrs. Jewkes; pray
let me have your company. And she made me a fine courtesy,
and thanked me.—How times are altered!
Thursday.
This morning my master came up to me, and talked with me
on various subjects, for a good while together, in the most
kind manner. Among other things, he asked me, if I chose to
order any new clothes against my marriage. (O how my heart
flutters when he mentions this subject so freely!) I said, I
left every thing to his good pleasure, only repeated my
request, for the reasons aforegiven, that I might not be too
fine.
He said, I think, my dear, it shall be very private: I
hope you are not afraid of a sham-marriage; and pray get the
service by heart, that you may see nothing is omitted. I
glowed between shame and delight. O how I felt my cheeks
burn!
I said, I feared nothing, I apprehended nothing, but my
own unworthiness. Said he, I think it shall be done within
these fourteen days, from this day, at this house. O how I
trembled! but not with grief, you may believe—What says my
girl? Have you to object against any day of the next
fourteen: because my affairs require me to go to my other
house, and I think not to stir from this till I am happy
with you?
I have no will but yours, said I (all glowing like the
fire, as I could feel:) But, sir, did you say in the house?
Ay, said he; for I care not how privately it be done; and it
must be very public if we go to church. It is a holy rite,
sir, said I; and would be better, methinks, in a holy place.
I see (said he, most kindly) my lovely maid's confusion;
and your trembling tenderness shews I ought to oblige you
all I may. Therefore I will order my own little chapel,
which has not been used for two generations, for any thing
but a lumber-room, because our family seldom resided here
long together, to be cleared and cleaned, and got ready for
the ceremony, if you dislike your own chamber or mine.
Sir, said I, that will be better than the chamber, and I
hope it will never be lumbered again, but kept to the use
for which, as I presume, it has been consecrated. O yes,
said he, it has been consecrated, and that several ages ago,
in my great great grandfather's time, who built that and the
good old house together.
But now, my good girl, if I do not too much add to your
sweet confusion, shall it be in the first seven days, or the
second of this fortnight? I looked down, quite out of
countenance. Tell me, said he.
In the second, if you please, sir, said I.—As you please,
said he most kindly; but I should thank you, Pamela, if you
would choose the first. I'd rather, sir, if you please, said
I, have the second. Well, said he, be it so; but don't defer
it till the last day of the fourteen.
Pray sir, said I, since you embolden me to talk on this
important subject, may I not send my dear father and mother
word of my happiness?—You may, said he; but charge them to
keep it secret, till you or I direct the contrary. And I
told you, I would see no more of your papers; but I meant, I
would not without your consent: but if you will shew them to
me (and now I have no other motive for my curiosity, but the
pleasure I take in reading what you write,) I shall
acknowledge it as a favour.
If, sir, said I, you will be pleased to let me write over
again one sheet, I will; though I had relied upon your word,
and not written them for your perusal. What is that? said
he: though I cannot consent to it beforehand: for I more
desire to see them, because they are your true sentiments at
the time, and because they were not written for my perusal.
Sir, said I, what I am loath you should see, are very severe
reflections on the letter I received by the gipsy, when I
apprehended your design of the sham-marriage; though there
are other things I would not have you see; but that is the
worst. It can't be worse, said he, my dear sauce-box, than I
have seen already; and I will allow your treating me in ever
so black a manner, on that occasion, because it must have a
very black appearance to you.—Well, sir, said I, I think I
will obey you before night. But don't alter a word, said he.
I won't, sir, replied I, since you order it.
While we were talking, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and said
Thomas was returned. O, said my master, let him bring up the
papers: for he hoped, and so did I, that you had sent them
by him. But it was a great balk, when he came up and said,
Sir, Mr. Andrews did not care to deliver them; and would
have it, that his daughter was forced to write that letter
to him: and, indeed, sir, said he, the old gentleman took on
sadly, and would have it that his daughter was undone, or
else, he said, she would not have turned back, when on her
way, (as I told him she did, said Thomas,) instead of coming
to them. I began to be afraid now that all would be bad for
me again.
Well, Tom, said he, don't mince the matter; tell me,
before Mrs. Andrews, what they said. Why, sir, both he and
Goody Andrews, after they had conferred together upon your
letter, madam, came out, weeping bitterly, that grieved my
very heart; and they said, Now all was over with their poor
daughter; and either she had written that letter by
compulsion, or had yielded to your honour; so they said; and
was, or would be ruined!
My master seemed vexed, as I feared. And I said, Pray,
sir, be so good as to excuse the fears of my honest parents.
They cannot know your goodness to me.
And so (said he, without answering me,) they refused to
deliver the papers? Yes, and please your honour, said
Thomas, though I told them, that you, madam, of your own
accord, on a letter I had brought you, very cheerfully wrote
what I carried: But the old gentleman said, Why, wife, there
are in these papers twenty things nobody should see but
ourselves, and especially not the 'squire. O the poor girl
has had so many stratagems to struggle with! and now, at
last, she has met with one that has been too hard for her.
And can it be possible for us to account for her setting out
to come to us, and in such post haste, and, when she had got
above half-way, to send us this letter, and to go back again
of her own accord, as you say; when we know that all her
delight would have been to come to us and to escape from the
perils she had been so long contending with? And then, and
please your honour, he said, he could not bear this; for his
daughter was ruined, to be sure, before now. And so, said
Thomas, the good old couple sat themselves down, and,
hand-in-hand, leaning upon each other's shoulder, did
nothing but lament.—I was piteously grieved, said he; but
all I could say could not comfort them; nor would they give
me the papers; though I told them I should deliver them only
to Mrs. Andrews herself. And so, and please your honour, I
was forced to come away without them.
My good master saw me all bathed in tears at this
description of your distress and fears for me; and he said,
I would not have you take on so. I am not angry with your
father in the main; he is a good man; and I would have you
write out of hand, and it shall be sent by the post to Mr.
Atkins, who lives within two miles of your father, and I'll
enclose it in a cover of mine, in which I'll desire Mr.
Atkins, the moment it comes to his hand, to convey it safely
to your father or mother; and say nothing of their sending
their papers, that it may not make them uneasy; for I want
not now to see them on any other score than that of mere
curiosity; and that will do at any time. And so saying, he
saluted me before Thomas, and with his own handkerchief
wiped my eyes; and said to Thomas, The good old folks are
not to be blamed in the main. They don't know my honourable
intentions by their dear daughter; who, Tom, will, in a
little time, be your mistress; though I shall keep the
matter private some days, and would not have it spoken of by
my servants out of my house.
Thomas said, God bless your honour! You know best. And I
said, O, sir, you are all goodness!—How kind is this, to
forgive the disappointment, instead of being angry, as I
feared you would! Thomas then withdrew. And my master said,
I need not remind you of writing out of hand, to make the
good folks easy: and I will leave you to yourself for that
purpose; only send me down such of your papers, as you are
willing I should see, with which I shall entertain myself
for an hour or two. But, one thing, added he, I forgot to
tell you: The neighbouring gentry I mentioned will be here
tomorrow to dine with me, and I have ordered Mrs. Jewkes to
prepare for them. And must I, sir, said I, be shewn to them?
O yes, said he; that's the chief reason of their coming. And
you'll see nobody equal to yourself: don't be concerned.
I opened my papers, as soon as my master had left me; and
laid out those beginning on the Thursday morning he set out
for Stamford, 'with the morning visit he made me before I
was up, and the injunctions of watchfulness, etc. to Mrs.
Jewkes; the next day's gipsy affair, and my reflections, in
which I called him truly diabolical, and was otherwise very
severe, on the strong appearances the matter had then
against him. His return on Saturday, with the dread he put
me in, on the offering to search me for my papers which
followed those he had got by Mrs. Jewkes's means. My being
forced to give them up. His carriage to me after he had read
them, and questions to me. His great kindness to me on
seeing the dangers I had escaped and the troubles I had
undergone. And how I unseasonably, in the midst of his
goodness, expressed my desire of being sent to you, having
the intelligence of a sham-marriage, from the gipsy, in my
thoughts. How this enraged him, and made him turn me that
very Sunday out of his house, and send me on my way to you.
The particulars of my journey, and my grief at parting with
him; and my free acknowledgment to you, that I found,
unknown to myself, I had begun to love him, and could not
help it. His sending after me, to beg my return; but yet
generously leaving me at my liberty, when he might have
forced me to return whether I was willing or not. My
resolution to oblige him, and fatiguing journey back. My
concern for his illness on my return. His kind reception of
me, and shewing me his sister Davers's angry letter, against
his behaviour to me, desiring him to set me free, and
threatening to renounce him as a brother, if he should
degrade himself by marrying me. My serious reflections on
this letter, etc.' (all which, I hope, with the others, you
will shortly see.) And this carried matters down to Tuesday
night last.
All that followed was so kind on his side, being our
chariot conference, as above, on Wednesday morning, and how
good he has been ever since, that I thought I would go no
further; for I was a little ashamed to be so very open on
that tender and most grateful subject; though his great
goodness to me deserves all the acknowledgments I can
possibly make.
And when I had looked these out, I carried them down
myself into the parlour to him; and said, putting them into
his hands, Your allowances, good sir, as heretofore; and if
I have been too open and free in my reflections or
declarations, let my fears on one side, and my sincerity on
the other, be my excuse. You are very obliging, my good
girl, said he. You have nothing to apprehend from my
thoughts, any more than from my actions.
So I went up, and wrote the letter to you, briefly
acquainting you with my present happiness, and my master's
goodness, and expressing the gratitude of heart, which I owe
to the kindest gentleman in the world, and assuring you,
that I should soon have the pleasure of sending back to you,
not only those papers, but all that succeeded them to this
time, as I know you delight to amuse yourself in your
leisure hours with my scribble: And I said, carrying it down
to my master, before I sealed it, Will you please, sir, to
take the trouble of reading what I write to my dear parents?
Thank you, Pamela, said he, and set me on his knee, while he
read it; and seemed much pleased with it; and giving it me
again, You are very happy, said he, my beloved girl, in your
style and expressions: and the affectionate things you say
of me are inexpressibly obliging; and again, with this kiss,
said he, do I confirm for truth all that you have promised
for my intentions in this letter.—O what halcyon days are
these! God continue them!—A change would kill me quite.
He went out in his chariot in the afternoon; and in the
evening returned, and sent me word, he would be glad of my
company for a little walk in the garden; and down I went
that very moment.
He came to meet me. So, says he, how does my dear girl do
now?—Whom do you think I have seen since I have been out?—I
don't know, sir, said I. Why, said he, there is a turning in
the road, about five miles off, that goes round a meadow,
that has a pleasant foot-way, by the side of a little brook,
and a double row of limes on each side, where now and then
the gentry in the neighbourhood walk, and angle, and divert
themselves.—I'll shew it you next opportunity.—And I stept
out of my chariot, to walk across this meadow, and bid Robin
meet me with it on the further part of it: And whom should I
'spy there, walking, with a book in his hand, reading, but
your humble servant Mr. Williams! Don't blush, Pamela, said
he. As his back was towards me, I thought I would speak to
the man: and, before he saw me, I said, How do you, old
acquaintance? (for, said he, you know we were of one college
for a twelvemonth.) I thought the man would have jumped into
the brook, he gave such a start at hearing my voice, and
seeing me.
Poor man! said I. Ay, said he, but not too much of your
poor man, in that soft accent, neither, Pamela.—Said I, I am
sorry my voice is so startling to you, Mr. Williams. What
are you reading? Sir, said he, and stammered with the
surprise, it is the French Telemachus; for I am about
perfecting myself, if I can, in the French tongue.—Thought
I, I had rather so, than perfecting my Pamela in it.—You do
well, replied I.—Don't you think that yonder cloud may give
us a small shower? and it did a little begin to wet.—He
said, he believed not much.
If, said I, you are for the village, I'll give you a
cast; for I shall call at Sir Simon's in my return from the
little round I am taking. He asked me if it was not too
great a favour?—No, said I, don't talk of that; let us walk
to the further opening there, and we shall meet my chariot.
So, Pamela, continued my master, we fell into
conversation as we walked. He said he was very sorry he had
incurred my displeasure; and the more, as he had been told,
by Lady Jones, who had it from Sir Simon's family, that I
had a more honourable view than at first was apprehended. I
said, We fellows of fortune, Mr. Williams, take sometimes a
little more liberty with the world than we ought to do;
wantoning, very probably, as you contemplative folks would
say, in the sunbeams of a dangerous affluence; and cannot
think of confining ourselves to the common paths, though the
safest and most eligible, after all. And you may believe I
could not very well like to be supplanted in a view that lay
next my heart; and that by an old acquaintance, whose good,
before this affair, I was studious to promote.
I would only say, sir, said he, that my first motive was
entirely such as became my function: And, very politely,
said my master, he added, And I am very sure, that however
inexcusable I might seem in the progress of the matter,
yourself, sir, would have been sorry to have it said, you
had cast your thoughts on a person, that nobody could have
wished for but yourself.
Well, Mr. Williams, said I, I see you are a man of
gallantry, as well as religion: But what I took most amiss
was, that, if you thought me doing a wrong thing, you did
not expostulate with me upon it, as your function might have
allowed you to do; but immediately determined to counterplot
me, and attempt to secure to yourself a prize you would have
robbed me of, and that from my own house. But the matter is
at an end, and I retain not any malice upon it; though you
did not know but I might, at last, do honourably by her, as
I actually intend.
I am sorry for myself, sir, said he, that I should so
unhappily incur your displeasure; but I rejoice for her sake
in your honourable intentions: give me leave only to say,
that if you make Miss Andrews your lady, she will do credit
to your choice with every body that sees her, or comes to
know her; and, for person and mind both, you may challenge
the county.
In this manner, said my master, did the parson and I
confabulate; and I set him down at his lodgings in the
village. But he kept your secret, Pamela; and would not own,
that you gave any encouragement to his addresses.
Indeed, sir, said I, he could not say that I did; and I
hope you believe me. I do, I do, said he: but 'tis still my
opinion, that if, when I saw plots set up against my plots,
I had not discovered the parson as I did, the correspondence
between you might have gone to a length that would have put
our present situation out of both our powers.
Sir, said I, when you consider, that my utmost
presumption could not make me hope for the honour you now
seem to design me; that I was so hardly used, and had no
prospect before me but dishonour, you will allow that I
should have seemed very little in earnest in my professions
of honesty, if I had not endeavoured to get away: but yet I
resolved not to think of marriage; for I never saw the man I
could love, till your goodness emboldened me to look up to
you.
I should, my dear Pamela, said he, make a very ill
compliment to my vanity, if I did not believe you; though,
at the same time, justice calls upon me to say, that it is,
some things considered, beyond my merit.
There was a sweet, noble expression for your poor
daughter, my dear father and mother!—And from my master too!
I was glad to hear this account of the interview between
Mr. Williams and himself; but I dared not to say so. I hope
in time he will be reinstated in his good graces.
He was so good as to tell me, he had given orders for the
chapel to be cleared. O how I look forward with inward joy,
yet with fear and trembling!
Friday.
About twelve o'clock came Sir Simon, and his lady and two
daughters; and Lady Jones, and a sister-in-law of hers; and
Mr. Peters, and his spouse and niece. Mrs. Jewkes, who is
more and more obliging, was much concerned I was not dressed
in some of my best clothes, and made me many compliments.
They all went into the garden for a walk, before dinner;
and, I understood, were so impatient to see me, that my
master took them into the largest alcove, after they had
walked two or three turns, and stept himself to me. Come, my
Pamela, said he, the ladies can't be satisfied without
seeing you, and I desire you'll come. I said, I was ashamed;
but I would obey him. Said he, The two young ladies are
dressed out in their best attire; but they make not such an
appearance as my charming girl in this ordinary garb.—Sir,
said I, shan't I follow you thither? For I can't bear you
should do me so much honour. Well, said he, I'll go before
you. And he bid Mrs. Jewkes bring a bottle of sack, and some
cake. So he went down to them.
This alcove fronts the longest gravel-walk in the garden,
so that they saw me all the way I came, for a good way: and
my master told me afterwards, with pleasure, all they said
of me.
Will you forgive the little vain slut, your daughter, if
I tell you all, as he was pleased to tell me? He said,
'spying me first, Look, there, ladies, comes my pretty
rustic!—They all, I saw, which dashed me, stood at the
windows, and in the door-way, looking full at me.
My master told me, that Lady Jones said, She is a
charming creature, I see that, at this distance. And Sir
Simon, it seems, who has been a sad rake in his younger
days, swore he never saw so easy an air, so fine a shape,
and so graceful a presence.—The Lady Darnford said, I was a
sweet girl. And Mrs. Peters said very handsome things. Even
the parson said, I should be the pride of the county. O,
dear sirs! all this was owing to the light my good master's
favour placed me in, which made me shine out in their eyes
beyond my deserts. He said the young ladies blushed, and
envied me.
When I came near, he saw me in a little confusion, and
was so kind as to meet me: Give me your hand, said he, my
poor girl; you walk too fast, (for, indeed, I wanted to be
out of their gazing). I did so, with a courtesy, and he led
me up the steps of the alcove, and, in a most gentleman-like
manner, presented me to the ladies, and they all saluted me,
and said, They hoped to be better acquainted with me: and
Lady Darnford was pleased to say, I should be the flower of
their neighbourhood. Sir Simon said, Good neighbour, by your
leave; and saluting me, added, Now will I say, that I have
kissed the loveliest maiden in England. But, for all this,
methought I owed him a grudge for a tell-tale, though all
had turned out so happily. Mr. Peters very gravely followed
his example, and said, like a bishop, God bless you, fair
excellence! said Lady Jones, Pray, dear madam, sit down by
me: and they all sat down: But I said, I would stand, if
they pleased. No, Pamela, said my master: pray sit down with
these good ladies, my neighbours:—They will indulge it to
you, for my sake, till they know you better; and for your
own, when they are acquainted with you. Sir, said I, I shall
be proud to deserve their indulgence.
They all so gazed at me, that I could not look up; for I
think it is one of the distinctions of persons of condition,
and well-bred people, to put bashful bodies out of
countenance. Well, Sir Simon, said my master, what say you
now to my pretty rustic?—He swore a great oath, that he
should better know what to say to me if he was as young as
himself. Lady Darnford said, You will never leave, Sir
Simon.
Said my master, You are a little confused, my good girl,
and out of breath; but I have told all my kind neighbours
here a good deal of your story, and your excellence. Yes,
said Lady Darnford, my dear neighbour, as I will call you;
we that are here present have all heard of your uncommon
story. Madam, said I, you have then heard what must make
your kind allowance for me very necessary. No, said Mrs.
Peters, we have heard what will always make you valued as an
honour to our sex, and as a worthy pattern for all the young
ladies in the county. You are very good, madam, said I, to
make me able to look up, and to be thankful for the honour
you are pleased to do me.
Mrs. Jewkes came in with the canary, brought by Nan, to
the alcove, and some cakes on a silver salver; and I said,
Mrs. Jewkes, let me be your assistant; I will serve the
ladies with the cake. And so I took the salver, and went
round to the good company with it, ending with my master.
The Lady Jones said, She never was served with such a grace,
and it was giving me too much trouble. O, madam, said I, I
hope my good master's favour will never make me forget, that
it is my duty to wait upon his friends. Master, sweet one!
said Sir Simon, I hope you won't always call Mr. B—— by that
name, for fear it should become a fashion for all our ladies
to do the like through the county. I, sir, said I, shall
have many reasons to continue this style, which cannot
affect your good ladies.
Sir Simon, said Lady Jones, you are very arch upon us but
I see very well, that it will be the interest of all the
gentlemen, to bring their ladies into an intimacy with one
that can give them such a good example. I am sure then,
madam, said I, it must be after I have been polished and
improved by the honour of such an example as yours.
They all were very good and affable; and the young Lady
Darnford, who had wished to see me in this dress, said, I
beg your pardon, dear miss, as she called me; but I had
heard how sweetly this garb became you, and was told the
history of it; and I begged it, as a favour, that you might
oblige us with your appearance in it. I am much obliged to
your ladyship, said I, that your kind prescription was so
agreeable to my choice. Why, said she, was it your choice
then?—I am glad of that: though I am sure your person must
give, and not take, ornament from any dress.
You are very kind, madam, said I: but there will be the
less reason to fear I should forget the high obligations I
should have to the kindest of gentlemen, when I can delight
to shew the humble degree from which his goodness had raised
me.—My dear Pamela, said my master, if you proceed at this
rate, I must insist upon your first seven days. You know
what I mean. Sir, said I, you are all goodness!
They drank a glass of sack each, and Sir Simon would make
me do so too, saying, It will be a reflection, madam, upon
all the ladies, if you don't do as they. No, Sir Simon, said
I, that can't be, because the ladies' journey hither makes a
glass of canary a proper cordial for them: but I won't
refuse; because I will do myself the honour of drinking good
health to you, and to all this worthy company.
Said good Lady Darnford, to my master, I hope, sir, we
shall have Mrs. Andrews's company at table. He said, very
obligingly, Madam, it is her time now; and I will leave it
to her choice. If the good ladies, then, will forgive me,
sir, said I, I had rather be excused. They all said, I must
not be excused. I begged I might. Your reason for it, my
dear Pamela? said my master: since the ladies request it, I
wish you would oblige them. Sir, replied I, your goodness
will make me, every day, worthier of the honour the ladies
do me; and when I can persuade myself that I am more worthy
of it than at present, I shall with great joy embrace all
the opportunities they will be pleased to give me.
Mrs. Peters whispered Lady Jones, as my master told me
afterwards; Did you ever see such excellence, such prudence,
and discretion? Never in my life, said the other good lady.
She will adorn, she was pleased to say, her distinction. Ay,
says Mrs. Peters, she would adorn any station in life.
My good master was highly delighted, generous gentleman
as he is! with the favourable opinion of the ladies; and I
took the more pleasure in it, because their favour seemed to
lessen the disgrace of his stooping so much beneath himself.
Lady Darnford said, We will not oppress you; though we
could almost blame your too punctilious exactness: but if we
excuse Miss Andrews from dinner, we must insist upon her
company at the card-table, and at a dish of tea; for we
intend to pass the whole day with you, sir, as we told you.
What say you to that, Pamela, said my master. Sir, replied
I, whatever you and the ladies please, I will cheerfully do.
They said, I was very obliging. But Sir Simon rapt out an
oath, and said, That they might dine together, if they
would; but he would dine with me, and nobody else: for, said
he, I say, sir, as Parson Williams said, (by which I found
my master had told them the story,) You must not think you
have chosen one that nobody can like but yourself.
The young ladies said, If I pleased they would take a
turn about the garden with me. I answered, I would very
gladly attend them; and so we three, and Lady Jones's
sister-in-law, and Mr. Peters's niece, walked together. They
were very affable, kind, and obliging; and we soon entered
into a good deal of familiarity; and I found Miss Darnford a
very agreeable person. Her sister was a little more on the
reserve; and I afterwards heard, that, about a year before,
she would fain have had my master make his addresses to her:
but though Sir Simon is reckoned rich, she was not thought
sufficient fortune for him. And now, to have him look down
so low as me, must be a sort of mortification to a poor
young lady!—And I pitied her.—Indeed I did!—I wish all young
persons of my sex could be as happy as I am like to be.
My master told me afterwards, that I left the other
ladies, and Sir Simon and Mr. Peters, full of my praises: so
that they could hardly talk of any thing else; one launching
out upon my complexion, another upon my eyes, my hand, and,
in short, for you'll think me sadly proud, upon my whole
person and behaviour; and they all magnified my readiness
and obligingness in my answers, and the like: And I was glad
of it, as I said, for my good master's sake, who seemed
quite pleased and rejoiced. God bless him for his goodness
to me!
Dinner not being ready, the young ladies proposed a tune
upon the spinnet. I said, I believed it was not in tune.
They said, they knew it was but a few months ago. If it is,
said I, I wish I had known it; though indeed, ladies, added
I, since you know my story, I must own, that my mind has not
been long in tune, to make use of it. So they would make me
play upon it, and sing to it; which I did, a song my dear
good lady made me learn, and used to be pleased with, and
which she brought with her from Bath: and the ladies were
much taken with the song, and were so kind as to approve my
performance: And Miss Darnford was pleased to compliment me,
that I had all the accomplishments of my sex. I said, I had
had a good lady, in my master's mother, who had spared no
pains nor cost to improve me. She said, she wished Mr. B——
could be prevailed upon to give a ball on an approaching
happy occasion, that we might have a dancing-match, etc.—But
I can't say I do; though I did not say so: for these
occasions, I think, are too solemn for the principals, at
least of our sex, to take part in, especially if they have
the same thoughts of that solemnity that I have: For,
indeed, though I have before me a prospect of happiness,
that may be envied by ladies of high rank, yet I must own to
you, my dear parents, that I have something very awful upon
my mind, when I think of the matter; and shall, more and
more, as it draws nearer and nearer. This is the song:
I.
Go, happy paper, gently steal,
And underneath her pillow lie;
There, in soft dreams, my love reveal,
That love which I must still conceal,
And, wrapt in awful silence, die.
II.
Should flames be doom'd thy hapless fate,
To atoms thou wouldst quickly turn:
My pains may bear a longer date;
For should I live, and should she hate,
In endless torments I should burn.
III.
Tell fair AURELIA, she has charms,
Might in a hermit stir desire.
T' attain the heav'n that's in her arms,
I'd quit the world's alluring harms,
And to a cell content, retire.
IV.
Of all that pleas'd my ravish'd eye,
Her beauty should supply the place;
Bold Raphael's strokes, and Titian's dye,
Should but in vain presume to vie
With her inimitable face.
V.
No more I'd wish for Phoebus' rays,
To gild the object of my sight;
Much less the taper's fainter blaze:
Her eyes should measure out my days;
And when she slept, it should be night.
About four o'clock.
My master just came up to me, and said, If you should see
Mr. Williams below, do you think, Pamela, you should not be
surprised?—No, sir, said I, I hope not. Why should I?
Expect, said he, a stranger then, when you come down to us
in the parlour; for the ladies are preparing themselves for
the card-table, and they insist upon your company.—You have
a mind, sir, said I, I believe, to try all my courage. Why,
said he, does it want courage to see him? No, sir, said I,
not at all. But I was grievously dashed to see all those
strange ladies and gentlemen; and now to see Mr. Williams
before them, as some of them refused his application for me,
when I wanted to get away, it will a little shock me, to see
them smile, in recollecting what has passed of that kind.
Well, said he, guard your heart against surprises, though
you shall see, when you come down, a man that I can allow
you to love dearly; though hardly preferably to me.
This surprises me much. I am afraid he begins to be
jealous of me. What will become of me, (for he looked very
seriously,) if any turn should happen now!—My heart aches! I
know not what's the matter. But I will go down as brisk as I
can, that nothing may be imputed to me. Yet I wish this Mr.
Williams had not been there now, when they are all there;
because of their fleers at him and me. Otherwise I should be
glad to see the poor gentleman; for, indeed, I think him a
good man, and he has suffered for my sake.
So, I am sent for down to cards. I'll go; but wish I may
continue their good opinions of me: for I shall be very
awkward. My master, by his serious question, and bidding me
guard my heart against surprises, though I should see, when
I came down, a man he can allow me to love dearly, though
hardly better than himself, has quite alarmed me, and made
me sad!—I hope he loves me!—But whether he does or not, I am
in for it now, over head and ears, I doubt, and can't help
loving him; 'tis a folly to deny it. But to be sure I can't
love any man preferably to him. I shall soon know what he
means.
Now, my dear mother, must I write to you. Well might my
good master say so mysteriously as he did, about guarding my
heart against surprises. I never was so surprised in my
life; and never could see a man I loved so dearly!—O my dear
mother, it was my dear, dear father, and not Mr. Williams,
that was below ready to receive and to bless your daughter!
and both my master and he enjoined me to write how the whole
matter was, and what my thoughts were on this joyful
occasion.
I will take the matter from the beginning, that
Providence directed his feet to this house, to this time, as
I have had it from Mrs. Jewkes, from my master, my father,
the ladies, and my own heart and conduct, as far as I know
of both; because they command it, and you will be pleased
with my relation and so, as you know how I came by the
connexion, will make one uniform relation of it.
It seems, then, my dear father and you were so uneasy to
know the truth of the story which Thomas had told you, that
fearing I was betrayed, and quite undone, he got leave of
absence, and set out the day after Thomas was there; and so,
on Friday morning, he got to the neighbouring town; and
there he heard, that the gentry in the neighbourhood were at
my master's, at a great entertainment. He put on a clean
shirt and neckcloth (which he brought in his pocket) at an
alehouse there, and got shaved; and so, after he had eaten
some bread and cheese, and drank a can of ale, he set out
for my master's house, with a heavy heart, dreading for me,
and in much fear of being brow-beaten. He had, it seems,
asked, at the alehouse, what family the 'squire had down
here, in hopes to hear something of me: And they said, A
housekeeper, two maids, and, at present, two coachmen, and
two grooms, a footman, and a helper. Was that all? he said.
They told him, there was a young creature there, belike who
was, or was to be, his mistress, or somewhat of that nature;
but had been his mother's waiting-maid. This, he said,
grieved his heart, and confirmed his fears.
So he went on, and about three o'clock in the afternoon
came to the gate; and, ringing there, Sir Simon's coachman
went to the iron gate; and he asked for the housekeeper;
though, from what I had written, in his heart he could not
abide her. She sent for him in, little thinking who he was,
and asked him, in the little hall, what his business with
her was?—Only, madam, said he, whether I cannot speak one
word with the 'squire? No, friend, said she; he is engaged
with several gentlemen and ladies. Said he, I have business
with his honour of greater consequence to me than either
life or death; and tears stood in his eyes.
At that she went into the great parlour, where my master
was talking very pleasantly with the ladies; and she said,
Sir, here is a good tight old man, that wants to see you on
business of life and death, he says, and is very earnest.
Ay, said he, Who can that be?—Let him stay in the little
hall, and I'll come to him presently. They all seemed to
stare; and Sir Simon said, No more nor less, I dare say, my
good friend, but a bastard-child. If it is, said Lady Jones,
bring it in to us. I will, said he.
Mrs. Jewkes tells me, my master was much surprised, when
he saw who it was; and she much more, when my dear father
said,—Good God! give me patience! but, as great as you are,
sir, I must ask for my child! and burst out into tears. (O
what trouble have I given you both!) My master said, taking
him by the hand, Don't be uneasy, Goodman Andrews; your
daughter is in the way to be happy.
This alarmed my dear father, and he said, What! then, is
she dying? And trembled, he could scarce stand. My master
made him sit down, and sat down by him, and said, No; God be
praised! she is very well: And pray be comforted; I cannot
bear to see you thus apprehensive; but she has written you a
letter to assure you, that she has reason to be well
satisfied, and happy.
Ah, sir I said he, you told me once she was in London,
waiting on a bishop's lady, when all the time she was a
severe prisoner here.—Well, that's all over now, Goodman
Andrews, said my master: but the times are altered; for now
the sweet girl has taken me prisoner; and in a few days I
shall put on the most agreeable fetters that ever man wore.
O, sir! said, he, you are too pleasant for my griefs. My
heart's almost broke. But may I not see my poor child? You
shall presently, said he; for she is coming down to us; and
since you won't believe me, I hope you will her.
I will ask you, good sir, said he, but one question till
then, that I may know how to look upon her when I see her.
Is she honest? Is she virtuous?—As the new-born babe, Mr.
Andrews, said my good master; and in twelve days time, I
hope, will be my wife.
O flatter me not, good your honour, said he: It cannot
be! it cannot be!—I fear you have deluded her with strange
hopes; and would make me believe impossibilities!—Mrs.
Jewkes, said he, do you tell my dear Pamela's good father,
when I go out, all you know concerning me, and your mistress
that is to be. Meantime, make much of him, and set out what
you have; and make him drink a glass of what he likes best.
If this be wine, added he, fill me a bumper.
She did so; and he took my father by the hand, and said,
Believe me, good man, and be easy; for I can't bear to see
you tortured in this cruel suspense: Your dear daughter is
the beloved of my soul. I am glad you are come: for you'll
see us all in the same story. And here's your dame's health;
and God bless you both, for being the happy means of
procuring for me so great a blessing! And so he drank a
bumper to this most obliging health.
What do I hear? It cannot surely be! said my father. And
your honour is too good, I hope, to mock a poor old man—This
ugly story, sir, of the bishop, runs in my head—But you say
I shall see my dear child—And I shall see her honest.—If
not, poor as I am, I would not own her.
My master bid Mrs. Jewkes not to let me know yet, that my
father was come; and went to the company, and said, I have
been agreeably surprised: Here is honest old Goodman Andrews
come full of grief to see his daughter; for he fears she is
seduced; and tells me, good honest man, that, poor as he is,
he will not own her, if she be not virtuous. O, said they
all, with one voice almost, Dear sir! shall we not see the
good old man you have so praised for his plain good sense,
and honest heart? If, said he, I thought Pamela would not be
too much affected with the surprise, I would make you all
witness to their first interview; for never did daughter
love a father, or a father a daughter, as they two do one
another. Miss Darnford, and all the ladies, and the
gentlemen too, begged it might be so. But was not this very
cruel, my dear mother? For well might they think I should
not support myself in such an agreeable surprise.
He said, kindly, I have but one fear, that the dear girl
may be too much affected. O, said Lady Darnford, we'll all
help to keep up her spirits. Says he, I'll go up, and
prepare her; but won't tell her of it. So he came up to me,
as I have said, and amused me about Mr. Williams, to half
prepare me for some surprise; though that could not have
been any thing to this: and he left me, as I said, in that
suspense, at his mystical words, saying, He would send to
me, when they were going to cards.
My master went from me to my father, and asked if he had
eaten any thing. No, said Mrs. Jewkes; the good man's heart
is so full, he cannot eat, nor do any thing, till he has
seen his dear daughter. That shall soon be, said my master.
I will have you come in with me; for she is going to sit
down with my guests, to a game at quadrille; and I will send
for her down. O, sir, said my father, don't, don't let me; I
am not fit to appear before your guests; let me see my
daughter by myself, I beseech you. Said he, They all know
your honest character, Goodman Andrews, and long to see you,
for Pamela's sake.
So he took my father by the hand, and led him in, against
his will, to the company. They were all very good. My master
kindly said, Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you one of
the honestest men in England, my good Pamela's father. Mr.
Peters went to him, and took him by the hand, and said, We
are all glad to see you, sir; you are the happiest man in
the world in a daughter; whom we never saw before to-day,
but cannot enough admire.
Said my master, This gentleman, Goodman Andrews, is the
minister of the parish; but is not young enough for Mr.
Williams. This airy expression, my poor father said, made
him fear, for a moment, that all was a jest.—Sir Simon also
took him by the hand, and said, Ay, you have a sweet
daughter, Honesty; we are all in love with her. And the
ladies came, and said very fine things: Lady Darnford
particularly, That he might think himself the happiest man
in England, in such a daughter. If, and please you, madam,
said he, she be but virtuous, 'tis all in all: For all the
rest is accident. But I doubt his honour has been too much
upon the jest with me. No, said Mrs. Peters, we are all
witnesses, that he intends very honourably by her.—It is
some comfort, said he, and wiped his eyes, that such good
ladies say so—But I wish I could see her.
They would have had him sit down by them; but he would
only sit behind the door, in the corner of the room, so that
one could not soon see him as one came in; because the door
opened against him, and hid him almost. The ladies all sat
down; and my master said, Desire Mrs. Jewkes to step up, and
tell Mrs. Andrews the ladies wait for her. So down I came.
Miss Darnford rose, and met me at the door, and said,
Well, Miss Andrews, we longed for your company. I did not
see my dear father; and it seems his heart was too full to
speak; and he got up, and sat down three or four times
successively, unable to come to me, or to say any thing. The
ladies looked that way: but I would not, supposing it was
Mr. Williams. And they made me sit down between Lady
Darnford and Lady Jones; and asked me, what we should play
at? I said, At what your ladyships please. I wondered to see
them smile, and look upon me, and to that corner of the
room; but I was afraid of looking that way, for fear of
seeing Mr. Williams; though my face was that way too, and
the table before me.
Said my master, Did you send your letter away to the
posthouse, my good girl, for your father? To be sure, sir,
said I, I did not forget that: I took the liberty to desire
Mr. Thomas to carry it. What, said he, I wonder, will the
good old couple say to it? O sir, said I, your goodness will
be a cordial to their dear honest hearts! At that, my dear
father, not able to contain himself, nor yet to stir from
the place, gushed out into a flood of tears, which he, good
soul! had been struggling with, it seems; and cried out, O
my dear child!
I knew the voice, and, lifting up my eyes, and seeing my
father, gave a spring, overturned the table, without regard
to the company, and threw myself at his feet: O my father!
my father! said I, can it be?—Is it you? Yes, it is! it
is!—O bless your happy daughter! I would have said, and down
I sunk.
My master seemed concerned—I feared, said he, that the
surprise would be too much for her spirits; and all the
ladies ran to me, and made me drink a glass of water; and I
found myself encircled in the arms of my dearest father.—O
tell me, said I, every thing! How long have you been here?
When did you come? How does my honoured mother? And half a
dozen questions more, before he could answer one.
They permitted me to retire with my father; and then I
poured forth all my vows and thanksgivings to God for this
additional blessing; and confirmed all my master's goodness
to his scarce-believing amazement. And we kneeled together,
blessing God, and one another, for several ecstatic minutes
and my master coming in soon after, my dear father said, O
sir, what a change is this! May, God reward and bless you,
both in this world and the next!
May God bless us all! said he. But how does my sweet
girl? I have been in pain for you—I am sorry I did not
apprise you beforehand.
O sir, said I, it was you; and all you do must be
good—But this was a blessing so unexpected!——
Well, said he, you have given pain to all the company.
They will be glad to see you, when you can: for you have
spoiled all their diversion; and yet painfully delighted
them at the same time. Mr. Andrews, added he, do you make
this house your own; and the longer you stay, the more
welcome you'll be. After you have a little composed
yourself, my dear girl, step in to us again. I am glad to
see you so well already. And so he left us.
See you, my dear father, said I, what goodness there is
in this once naughty master! O pray for him! and pray for
me, that I may deserve it!
How long has this happy change been wrought, my dear
child?—O, said I, several happy days!—I have written down
every thing; and you'll see, from the depth of misery, what
God has done for your happy daughter!
Blessed be his name! said he. But do you say he will
marry you? Can it be, that such a brave gentleman will make
a lady of the child of such a poor man as I? O the divine
goodness! How will your poor dear mother be able to support
these happy tidings? I will set out to-morrow, to acquaint
her with them: for I am but half happy, till the dear good
woman shares them with me!—To be sure, my dear child, we
ought to go into some far country to hide ourselves, that we
may not disgrace you by our poverty!
O, my dear father, said I, now you are unkind for the
first time! Your poverty has been my glory, and my riches;
and I have nothing to brag of, but that I ever thought it an
honour, rather than a disgrace; because you were always so
honest, that your child might well boast of such a
parentage!
In this manner, my dear mother, did we pass the happy
moments, till Miss Darnford came to me, and said, How do you
do, dear madam? I rejoice to see you so well! Pray let us
have your company. And yours too, good Mr. Andrews, taking
his hand.
This was very obliging, I told her; and we went to the
great parlour; and my master took my father by the hand, and
made him sit down by him, and drink a glass of wine with
him. Mean-time, I made my excuses to the ladies, as well as
I could, which they readily granted me. But Sir Simon, after
his comical manner, put his hands on my shoulders: Let me
see, let me see, said he, where your wings grow; for I never
saw any body fly like you.—Why, said he, you have broken
Lady Jones's shins with the table. Shew her else, madam.
His pleasantry made them laugh. And I said, I was very
sorry for my extravagancy: and if it had not been my
master's doings, I should have said, it was a fault to
permit me to be surprised, and put out of myself, before
such good company. They said, All was very excusable; and
they were glad I suffered no more by it.
They were so kind as to excuse me at cards, and played by
themselves; and I went by my master's commands and sat on
the other side, in the happiest place I ever was blest with,
between two of the dearest men in the world to me, and each
holding one of my hands:—my father, every now and then, with
tears, lifting up his eyes, and saying, Could I ever have
hoped this!
I asked him, If he had been so kind as to bring the
papers with him? He said, He had; and looked at me, as who
should say, Must I give them to you now?—I said, Be pleased
to let me have them. He pulled them from his pocket; and I
stood up, and, with my best duty, gave them into my master's
hands. He said, Thank you, Pamela. Your father shall take
all with him, so see what a sad fellow I have been, as well
as the present happier alteration. But I must have them all
again, for the writer's sake.
The ladies and gentlemen would make me govern the
tea-table, whatever I could do; and Abraham attended me, to
serve the company. My master and my father sat together, and
drank a glass or two of wine instead of tea, and Sir Simon
joked with my master, saying, I warrant you would not be
such a woman's man, as to drink tea, for ever so much, with
the ladies. But your time's coming, and I doubt not you'll
be made as comfortable as I.
My master was very urgent with them to stay supper; and
at last they complied, on condition that I would grace the
table, as they were pleased to call it. I begged to be
excused. My master said, Don't be excused, Pamela, since the
ladies desire it: And besides, said he, we won't part with
your father; and so you may as well stay with us.
I was in hopes my father and I might sup by ourselves, or
only with Mrs. Jewkes. And Miss Darnford, who is a most
obliging young lady, said, We will not part with you, indeed
we won't.
When supper was brought in, Lady Darnford took me by the
hand, and said to my master, Sir, by your leave; and would
have placed me at the upper end of the table. Pray, pray,
madam, said I, excuse me; I cannot do it, indeed I cannot.
Pamela, said my master, to the great delight of my good
father, as I could see by his looks, oblige Lady Darnford,
since she desires it. It is but a little before your time,
you know.
Dear, good sir, said I, pray don't command it! Let me sit
by my father, pray! Why, said Sir Simon, here's ado indeed!
Sit down at the upper end, as you should do; and your father
shall sit by you, there. This put my dear father upon
difficulties. And my master said, Come, I'll place you all:
and so put Lady Darnford at the upper end, Lady Jones at her
right hand, and Mrs. Peters on the other; and he placed me
between the two young ladies; but very genteelly put Miss
Darnford below her younger sister; saying, Come, miss, I put
you here, because you shall hedge in this little cuckow; for
I take notice, with pleasure, of your goodness to her; and,
besides, all you very young ladies should sit together. This
seemed to please both sisters; for had the youngest miss
been put there, it might have piqued her, as matters have
been formerly, to be placed below me; whereas Miss Darnford
giving place to her youngest sister, made it less odd she
should to me; especially with that handsome turn of the dear
man, as if I was a cuckow, and to be hedged in.
My master kindly said, Come, Mr. Andrews, you and I will
sit together. And so took his place at the bottom of the
table, and set my father on his right hand; and Sir Simon
would sit on his left. For, said he, parson, I think the
petticoats should sit together; and so do you sit down by
that lady (his sister). A boiled turkey standing by me, my
master said, Cut up that turkey, Pamela, if it be not too
strong work for you, that Lady Darnford may not have too
much trouble. So I carved it in a trice, and helped the
ladies. Miss Darnford said, I would give something to be so
dexterous a carver. O madam, said I, my late good lady would
always make me do these things, when she entertained her
female friends, as she used to do on particular days.
Ay, said my master, I remember my poor mother would often
say, if I, or any body at table, happened to be a little out
in carving, I'll send up for my Pamela, to shew you how to
carve. Said Lady Jones, Mrs. Andrews has every
accomplishment of her sex. She is quite wonderful for her
years. Miss Darnford said, And I can tell you, madam, that
she plays sweetly upon the spinnet, and sings as sweetly to
it; for she has a fine voice. Foolish! said Sir Simon; who,
that hears her speak, knows not that? And who that sees her
fingers, believes not that they were made to touch any key?
O, parson! said he, 'tis well you're by, or I should have
had a blush from the ladies. I hope not, Sir Simon, said
Lady Jones; for a gentleman of your politeness would not say
any thing that would make ladies blush.—No, no, said he, for
the world: but if I had, it would have been, as the poet
says,
'They blush, because they understand.'
When the company went away, Lady Darnford, Lady Jones,
and Mrs. Peters, severally invited my master, and me with
him, to their houses; and begged he would permit me, at
least, to come before we left those parts. And they said, We
hope, when the happy knot is tied, you will induce Mr. B——
to reside more among us. We were always glad, said Lady
Darnford, when he was here; but now shall have double
reason. O what grateful things were these to the ears of my
good father!
When the company was gone, my master asked my father, if
he smoked? He answered, No. He made us both sit down by him,
and said, I have been telling this sweet girl, that in
fourteen days, and two of them are gone, she must fix on one
to make me happy. And have left it to her to choose either
one of the first or last seven. My father held up his hands,
and eyes; God bless your honour! said he, is all I can say.
Now, Pamela, said my master, taking my hand, don't let a
little wrong-timed bashfulness take place, without any other
reason, because I should be glad to go to Bedfordshire as
soon as I could; and I would not return till I carry my
servants there a mistress, who should assist me to repair
the mischiefs she has made in it.
I could not look up for confusion. And my father said, My
dear child, I need not, I am sure, prompt your obedience in
whatever will most oblige so good a gentleman. What says my
Pamela? said my master: She does not use to be at a loss for
expressions. Sir, said I, were I too sudden, it would look
as if I doubted whether you would hold in your mind, and was
not willing to give you time for reflection: but otherwise,
to be sure I ought to resign myself implicitly to your will.
Said he, I want not time for reflection: for I have often
told you, and that long ago, I could not live without you:
and my pride of condition made me both tempt and terrify you
to other terms; but your virtue was proof against all
temptations, and was not to be awed by terrors: Wherefore,
as I could not conquer my passion for you, I corrected
myself, and resolved, since you would not be mine upon my
terms, you should upon your own: and now I desire you not on
any other, I assure you: and I think the sooner it is done,
the better. What say you, Mr. Andrews? Sir, said he, there
is so much goodness on your side, and, blessed be God! so
much prudence on my daughter's, that I must be quite silent.
But when it is done, I and my poor wife shall have nothing
to do, but to pray for you both, and to look back, with
wonder and joy, on the ways of Providence.
This, said my master, is Friday night; and suppose, my
girl, it be next Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, or Thursday
morning?—Say, my Pamela.
Will you, sir, said I, excuse me till to-morrow for an
answer? I will, said he; and touched the bell, and called
for Mrs. Jewkes. Where, said he, does Mr. Andrews lie
tonight? You'll take care of him. He's a very good man; and
will bring a blessing upon every house he sets his foot in.
My dear father wept for joy; and I could not refrain
keeping him company. And my master, saluting me, bid us good
night, and retired. And I waited upon my dear father, and
was so full of prattle, of my master's goodness, and my
future prospects, that I believed afterwards I was turned
all into tongue: but he indulged me, and was transported
with joy; and went to bed, and dreamed of nothing but
Jacob's ladder, and angels ascending and descending, to
bless him and his daughter.
Saturday.
I arose early in the morning; but found my father was up
before me, and was gone to walk in the garden. I went to
him: and with what delight, with what thankfulness, did we
go over every scene of it, that had before been so dreadful
to me! The fish-pond, the back-door, and every place. O what
reason had we for thankfulness and gratitude!
About seven o'clock my good master joined us, in his
morning gown and slippers; and looking a little heavy, I
said, Sir, I fear you had not good rest last night. That is
your fault, Pamela, said he. After I went from you, I must
needs look into your papers, and could not leave them till I
had read them through; and so 'twas three o'clock before I
went to sleep. I wish, sir, said I, you had had better
entertainment. The worst part of it, said he, was what I had
brought upon myself; and you have not spared me. Sir, said
I—He interrupting me, said, Well, I forgive you. You had too
much reason for it. But I find, plainly enough, that if you
had got away, you would soon have been Williams's wife: and
I can't see how it could well have been otherwise. Indeed,
sir, said I, I had no notion of it, or of being any body's.
I believe so, said he; but it must have come as a thing of
course; and I see your father was for it. Sir, said he, I
little thought of the honour your goodness would confer upon
her; and I thought that would be a match above what we could
do for her, a great deal. But when I found she was not for
it, I resolved not to urge her; but leave all to her own
prudence.
I see, said he, all was sincere, honest, and open; and I
speak of it, if it had been done, as a thing that could
hardly well be avoided; and I am quite satisfied. But, said
he, I must observe, as I have a hundred times, with
admiration, what a prodigious memory, and easy and happy
manner of narration, this excellent girl has! And though she
is full of her pretty tricks and artifices, to escape the
snares I had laid for her, yet all is innocent, lovely, and
uniformly beautiful. You are exceedingly happy in a
daughter; and I hope I shall be so in a wife—Or, said my
father, may she not have that honour! I fear it not, said
he; and I hope I shall deserve it of her.
But, Pamela, said my master, I am sorry to find in some
parts of your journal, that Mrs. Jewkes carried her orders a
little too far: and I the more take notice of it, because
you have not complained to me of her behaviour, as she might
have expected for some parts of it; though a good deal was
occasioned by my strict orders.—But she had the insolence to
strike my girl, I find. Sir, said I, I was a little
provoking, I believe; but as we forgave one another, I was
the less entitled to complain of her.
Well, said he, you are very good; but if you have any
particular resentment, I will indulge it so far, as that she
shall hereafter have nothing to do where you are. Sir, said
I, you are so kind, that I ought to forgive every body; and
when I see that my happiness is brought about by the very
means that I thought then my greatest grievance, I ought to
bless those means, and forgive all that was disagreeable to
me at the same time, for the great good that hath issued
from it.—That, said he, and kissed me, is sweetly
considered! and it shall be my part to make you amends for
what you have suffered, that you may still think lighter of
the one, and have cause to rejoice in the other.
My dear father's heart was full; and he said, with his
hands folded, and lifted up, Pray, sir, let me go—let me
go—to my dear wife, and tell her all these blessed things,
while my heart holds; for it is ready to burst with joy!
Good man! said my master—I hope to hear this honest heart of
yours speaking at your lips. I enjoin you, Pamela, to
continue your relation, as you have opportunity; and though
your father be here, write to your mother, that this
wondrous story be perfect, and we, your friends, may read
and admire you more and more. Ay, pray, pray do, my child,
said my father; and this is the reason that I write on, my
dear mother, when I thought not to do it, because my father
could tell you all that passed while he was here.
My master took notice of my psalm, and was pleased to
commend it; and said, That I had very charitably turned the
last verses, which, in the original, were full of heavy
curses, to a wish that shewed I was not of an implacable
disposition though my then usage might have excused it, if I
had. But, said he, I think you shall sing it to me
to-morrow.
After we have breakfasted, added he, if you have no
objection, Pamela, we'll take an airing together; and it
shall be in the coach, because we'll have your father's
company. He would have excused himself; but my master would
have it so: but he was much ashamed, because of the meanness
of his appearance.
My master would make us both breakfast with him on
chocolate; and he said, I would have you, Pamela, begin to
dress as you used to do; for now, at least, you may call
your two other bundles your own; and if you want any thing
against the approaching occasion, private as I design it,
I'll send to Lincoln for it, by a special messenger. I said,
My good lady's bounty, and his own, had set me much above my
degree, and I had very good things of all sorts; and I did
not desire any other, because I would not excite the censure
of the ladies. That would be a different thing, he was
pleased to say, when he publicly owned his nuptials, after
we came to the other house. But, at present, if I was
satisfied, he would not make words with me.
I hope, Mr. Andrews, said he, to my father, you'll not
leave us till you see the affair over, and then you'll be
sure I mean honourably: and, besides, Pamela will be induced
to set the day sooner. O, sir, said he, I bless God I have
no reason to doubt your meaning honourably: and I hope
you'll excuse me, if I set out on Monday morning, very
early, to my dear wife, and make her as happy as I am.
Why, Pamela, says my good master, may it not be performed
on Tuesday? And then your father, maybe, will stay.—I should
have been glad to have had it to-morrow, added he; but I
have sent Monsieur Colbrand for a license, that, you may
have no scruple unanswered; and he can't very well be back
before to-morrow night, or Monday morning.
This was most agreeable news. I said, Sir, I know my dear
father will want to be at home: and as you was so good to
give me a fortnight from last Thursday, I should be glad you
would be pleased to indulge me still to some day in the
second seven.
Well, said he, I will not be too urgent; but the sooner
you fix, the better. Mr. Andrews, we must leave something to
these Jephthah's daughters, in these cases, he was pleased
to say: I suppose the little bashful folly, which, in the
happiest circumstances, may give a kind of regret to quit
the maiden state, and an awkwardness at the entrance into a
new one, is a reason with Pamela; and so she shall name her
day. Sir, said he, you are all goodness.
I went up soon after, and new dressed myself, taking
possession, in a happy moment, I hope, of my two bundles, as
my good master was pleased to call them; (alluding to my
former division of those good things my lady and himself
bestowed upon me;) and so put on fine linen, silk shoes, and
fine white cotton stockings, a fine quilted coat, a delicate
green Mantea silk gown and coat, a French necklace, and a
laced cambric handkerchief, and clean gloves; and, taking my
fan in my hand, I, like a little proud hussy, looked in the
glass, and thought myself a gentlewoman once more; but I
forgot not to return due thanks, for being able to put on
this dress with so much comfort.
Mrs. Jewkes would help to dress me, and complimented me
highly, saying, among other things, That now I looked like a
lady indeed: and as, she said, the little chapel was ready,
and divine service would be read in it to-morrow, she wished
the happy knot might then be tied. Said she, Have you not
seen the chapel, madam, since it has been cleaned out? No,
said I; but are we to have service in it to-morrow, do you
say?—I am glad of that; for I have been a sad heathen
lately, sore against my will!—But who is to
officiate?—Somebody, replied she, Mr. Peters will send. You
tell me very good news, said I, Mrs. Jewkes: I hope it will
never be a lumber-room again.—Ay, said she, I can tell you
more good news; for the two Misses Darnford, and Lady Jones,
are to be here at the opening of it; and will stay and dine
with you. My master, said I, has not told me that. You must
alter your style, madam, said she: It must not be master
now, sure!—O, returned I, this is a language I shall never
forget: he shall always be my master; and I shall think
myself more and more his servant.
My poor father did not know I went up to dress myself;
and he said his heart misgave him when he saw me first, for
fear I was made a fool of, and that here was some fine lady
that was to be my master's true wife. And he stood in
admiration, and said, O, my dear child, how well will you
become your happy condition! Why you look like a lady
already! I hope, my dear father, said I, and boldly kissed
him, I shall always be your dutiful daughter, whatever my
condition be.
My master sent me word he was ready; and when he saw me,
said, Dress as you will, Pamela, you're a charming girl! and
so handed me to the coach, and would make my father and me
sit both on the foreside, and sat backwards, over against
me; and bid the coachman drive to the meadow; that is, where
he once met Mr. Williams.
The conversation was most agreeable to me, and to my dear
father, as we went; and he more and more exceeded in
goodness and generosity; and, while I was gone up to dress,
he had presented my father with twenty guineas; desiring him
to buy himself and my mother such apparel as they should
think proper; and lay it all out: but I knew not this till
after we came home; my father having had no opportunity to
tell me of it.
He was pleased to inform me of the chapel being got in
tolerable order; and said, it looked very well; and against
he came down next, it should be all new white-washed, and
painted and lined; and a new pulpit-cloth, cushion, desk,
etc. and that it should always be kept in order for the
future. He told me the two Misses Darnford, and Lady Jones,
would dine with him on Sunday: And, with their servants and
mine, said he, we shall make a tolerable congregation. And,
added he, have I not well contrived to shew you that the
chapel is really a little house of God, and has been
consecrated, before we solemnize our nuptials in it?—O, sir,
replied I, your goodness to me is inexpressible! Mr. Peters,
said he, offered to come and officiate in it; but would not
stay to dine with me, because he has company at his own
house: and so I intend that divine service shall be
performed in it by one to whom I shall make some yearly
allowance, as a sort of chaplain.—You look serious, Pamela,
added he: I know you think of your friend Williams. Indeed,
sir, said I, if you won't be angry, I did. Poor man! I am
sorry I have been the cause of his disobliging you.
When we came to the meadow, where the gentry have their
walk sometimes, the coach stopt, and my master alighted, and
led me to the brook-side, and it is a very pretty summer
walk. He asked my father, If he chose to walk out, or go on
in the coach to the farther end? He, poor man, chose to go
on in the coach, for fear, he said, any gentry should be
walking there; and he told me, he was most of the way upon
his knees in the coach, thanking God for his gracious
mercies and goodness; and begging a blessing upon my good
master and me.
I was quite astonished, when we came into the shady walk,
to see Mr. Williams there. See there, said my master,
there's poor Williams, taking his solitary walk again, with
his book. And, it seems, it was so contrived; for Mr. Peters
had been, as I since find, desired to tell him to be in that
walk at such an hour in the morning.
So, old acquaintance, said my master, again have I met
you in this place? What book are you now reading? He said,
it was Boileau's Lutrin. Said my master, You see I have
brought with me my little fugitive, that would have been:
While you are perfecting yourself in French, I am trying to
learn English; and hope soon to be master of it.
Mine, sir, said he, is a very beautiful piece of French:
but your English has no equal.
You are very polite, Mr. Williams, said my master: And he
that does not think as you do, deserves no share in her.
Why, Pamela, added he, very generously, why so strange,
where you have once been so familiar? I do assure you both,
that I mean not, by this interview, to insult Mr. Williams,
or confound you. Then I said, Mr. Williams, I am very glad
to see you well; and though the generous favour of my good
master has happily changed the scene, since you and I last
saw one another, I am nevertheless very glad of an
opportunity to acknowledge, with gratitude, your good
intentions, not so much to serve me, as me, but as a
person—that then had great reason to believe herself in
distress. And I hope, sir, added I, to my master, your
goodness will permit me to say this.
You, Pamela, said he, may make what acknowledgments you
please to Mr. Williams's good intentions; and I would have
you speak as you think; but I do not apprehend myself to be
quite so much obliged to those intentions.
Sir, said Mr. Williams, I beg leave to say, I knew well,
that, by education, you was no libertine; nor had I reason
to think you so by inclination; and, when you came to
reflect, I hoped you would not be displeased with me. And
this was no small motive to me, at first, to do as I did.
Ay, but Mr. Williams, said my master, could you think I
should have had reason to thank you, if, loving one person
above all her sex, you had robbed me of her, and married her
yourself?—And then, said he, you are to consider, that she
was an old acquaintance of mine, and a quite new one to you;
that I had sent her down to my own house, for better
securing her; and that you, who had access to my house,
could not effect your purpose, without being guilty, in some
sort, of a breach of the laws of hospitality and friendship.
As to my designs upon her, I own they had not the best
appearance; but still I was not answerable to Mr. Williams
for those; much less could you be excused to invade a
property so very dear to me, and to endeavour to gain an
interest in her affections, when you could not be certain
that matters would not turn out as they have actually done.
I own, said he, that some parts of my conduct seem
exceptionable, as you state it. But, sir, I am but a young
man. I meant no harm. I had no interest, I am sure, to incur
your displeasure; and when you think of every thing, and the
inimitable graces of person, and perfections of mind, that
adorn this excellent lady, (so he called me,) you will,
perhaps, find your generosity allow something as an
extenuation of a fault, which your anger would not permit as
an excuse.
I have done, said my master; nor did I meet you here to
be angry with you. Pamela knew not that she should see you:
and now you are both present, I would ask you, Mr. Williams,
If, now you know my honourable designs towards this good
girl, you can really be almost, I will not say quite, as
well pleased with the friendship of my wife, as you could be
with the favour of Mrs. Andrews?
Sir, said he, I will answer you truly. I think I could
have preferred, with her, any condition that could have
befallen me, had I considered only myself. But, sir, I was
very far from having any encouragement to expect her favour;
and I had much more reason to believe, that, if she could
have hoped for your goodness, her heart would have been too
much pre-engaged to think of any body else. And give me
leave further to say, sir, that, though I tell you sincerely
my thoughts, were I only to consider myself; yet, when I
consider her good, and her merit, I should be highly
ungenerous, were it put to my choice, if I could not wish
her in a condition so much superior to what I could raise
her to, and so very answerable to her merit.
Pamela, said my master, you are obliged to Mr. Williams,
and ought to thank him: He has distinguished well. But, as
for me, who had like to have lost you by his means, I am
glad the matter was not left to his choice. Mr. Williams,
added he, I give you Pamela's hand, because I know it will
be pleasing to her, in token of her friendship and esteem
for you; and I give you mine, that I will not be your enemy:
but yet I must say, that I think I owe this proper manner of
your thinking more to your disappointment, than to the
generosity you talk of.
Mr. Williams kissed my hand, as my master gave it him;
and my master said, Sir, you will go home and dine with me,
and I'll shew you my little chapel; and do you, Pamela, look
upon yourself at liberty to number Mr. Williams in the list
of your friends.
How generous, how noble, was this! Mr. Williams (and so
had I) had tears of pleasure in his eyes. I was silent: But
Mr. Williams said, Sir, I shall be taught, by your
generosity, to think myself inexcusably wrong, in every step
I took, that could give you offence; and my future life
shall shew my respectful gratitude.
We walked on till we came to the coach, where was my dear
father. Pamela, said my master, tell Mr. Williams who that
good man is. O, Mr. Williams! said I, it is my dear father!
and my master was pleased to say, One of the honestest men
in England: Pamela owes every thing that she is to be, as
well as her being, to him; for, I think, she would not have
brought me to this, nor made so great resistance, but for
the good lessons, and religious education, she had imbibed
from him.
Mr. Williams said, taking father's hand, You see, good
Mr. Andrews, with inexpressible pleasure, no doubt, the
fruits of your pious care; and now are in a way, with your
beloved daughter, to reap the happy effects of it.—I am
overcome, said my dear father, with his honour's goodness:
But I can only say, I bless God, and bless him.
Mr. Williams and I being nearer the coach than my master,
and he offering to draw back, to give way to him, he kindly
said, Pray, Mr. Williams, oblige Pamela with your hand; and
step in yourself. He bowed, and took my hand; and my master
made him step in, and sit next me, all that ever he could
do; and sat himself over against him, next my father, who
sat against me.
And he said, Mr. Andrews, I told you yesterday that the
divine you saw was not Mr. Williams; I now tell you, this
gentleman is: and though I have been telling him, I think
not myself obliged to his intentions; yet I will own that
Pamela and you are; and though I won't promise to love him,
I would have you.
Sir, said Mr. Williams, you have a way of overcoming,
that hardly all my reading affords an instance of; and it is
the more noble, as it is on this side, as I presume, the
happy ceremony, which, great as your fortune is, will lay
you under an obligation to so much virtue and beauty, when
the lady becomes yours; for you will then have a treasure
that princes might envy you.
Said my generous master, (God bless him!) Mr. Williams,
it is impossible that you and I should long live at
variance, when our sentiments agree so well together, on
subjects the most material.
I was quite confounded; and my master, seeing it, took my
hand, and said, Look up, my good girl; and collect
yourself.—Don't injure Mr. Williams and me so much, as to
think we are capping compliments, as we used to do verses at
school. I dare answer for us both, that we say not a
syllable we don't think.
O sir, said I, how unequal am I to all this goodness!
Every moment that passes adds to the weight of the
obligations you oppress me with.
Think not too much of that, said he most generously. Mr.
Williams's compliments to you have great advantage of mine:
For, though equally sincere, I have a great deal to say, and
to do, to compensate the sufferings I have made you undergo;
and, at last, must sit down dissatisfied, because those will
never be balanced by all I can do for you.
He saw my dear father quite unable to support these
affecting instances of his goodness;—and he let go my hand,
and took his; and said, seeing his tears, I wonder not, my
dear Pamela's father, that your honest heart springs thus to
your eyes, to see all her trials at an end. I will not
pretend to say, that I had formerly either power or will to
act thus: But since I began to resolve on the change you
see, I have reaped so much pleasure in it, that my own
interest will keep me steady: For, till within these few
days, I knew not what it was to be happy.
Poor Mr. Williams, with tears of joy in his eyes, said,
How happily, sir, have you been touched by the divine grace,
before you have been hurried into the commission of sins,
that the deepest penitence could hardly have atoned for!—God
has enabled you to stop short of the evil; and you have
nothing to do, but to rejoice in the good, which now will be
doubly so, because you can receive it without the least
inward reproach.
You do well, said he, to remind me, that I owe all this
to the grace of God. I bless Him for it; and I thank this
good man for his excellent lessons to his daughter; I thank
her for following them: and I hope, from her good example,
and your friendship, Mr. Williams, in time, to be half as
good as my tutoress: and that, said he, I believe you'll
own, will make me, without disparagement to any man, the
best fox-hunter in England.—Mr. Williams was going to speak:
and he said, You put on so grave a look, Mr. Williams, that,
I believe, what I have said, with you practical good folks,
is liable to exception: but I see we are become quite grave;
and we must not be too serious neither.
What a happy creature, my dear mother, is your Pamela!—O
may my thankful heart, and the good use I may be enabled to
make of the blessings before me, be a means to continue this
delightful prospect to a long date, for the sake of the dear
good gentleman, who thus becomes the happy instrument, in
the hand of Providence, to bless all he smiles upon! To be
sure, I shall never enough acknowledge the value he is
pleased to express for my unworthiness, in that he has
prevented my wishes, and, unasked, sought the occasion of
being reconciled to a good man, who, for my sake, had
incurred his displeasure; and whose name he could not, a few
days before, permit to pass through my lips! But see the
wonderful ways of Providence! The very things that I most
dreaded his seeing or knowing, the contents of my papers,
have, as I hope, satisfied all his scruples, and been a
means to promote my happiness.
Henceforth let not us poor short-sighted mortals pretend
to rely on our own wisdom; or vainly think, that we are
absolutely to direct for ourselves. I have abundant reason,
I am sure, to say, that, when I was most disappointed, I was
nearer my happiness: for had I made my escape, which was so
often my chief point in view, and what I had placed my heart
upon, I had escaped the blessings now before me, and fallen,
perhaps headlong, into the miseries I would have avoided.
And yet, after all, it was necessary I should take the steps
I did, to bring on this wonderful turn: O the unsearchable
wisdom of God!—And how much ought I to adore the divine
goodness, and humble myself, who am made a poor instrument,
as I hope, not only to magnify his graciousness to this fine
gentleman and myself, but also to dispense benefits to
others! Which God of his mercy grant!
In the agreeable manner I have mentioned, did we pass the
time in our second happy tour; and I thought Mrs. Jewkes
would have sunk into the ground, when she saw Mr. Williams
brought in the coach with us, and treated so kindly. We
dined together in a most pleasant, easy, and frank manner;
and I found I need not, from my master's generosity, to be
under any restraint, as to my conduct to this good
clergyman: For he, so often as he fancied I was reserved,
moved me to be free with him, and to him; and several times
called upon me to help my father and Mr. Williams; and
seemed to take great delight in seeing me carve, as, indeed,
he does in every thing I do.
After dinner we went and looked into the chapel, which is
a very pretty one, and very decent; and, when finished as he
designs it, against his next coming down, will be a very
pretty place.
My heart, my dear mother, when I first set my foot in it,
throbbed a good deal, with awful joy, at the thoughts of the
solemnity, which, I hope, will in a few days be performed
here. And when I came up towards the little pretty
altar-piece, while they were looking at a communion-picture,
and saying it was prettily done, I gently stept into a
corner, out of sight, and poured out my soul to God on my
knees, in supplication and thankfulness, that, after having
been so long absent from divine service, the first time I
entered into a house dedicated to his honour, should be with
such blessed prospects before me; and begging of God to
continue me humble, and to make me not unworthy of his
mercies; and that he would be pleased to bless the next
author of my happiness, my good master.
I heard my master say, Where's Pamela? And so I broke off
sooner than I would, and went up to him.
He said, Mr. Williams, I hope I have not so offended you
by my conduct past, (for really it is what I ought to be
ashamed of,) as that you will refuse to officiate, and to
give us your instructions here to-morrow. Mr. Peters was so
kind, for the first time, to offer it; but I knew it would
be inconvenient for him; and, besides, I was willing to make
this request to you an introduction to our reconciliation.
Sir, said he, most willingly, and most gratefully, will I
obey you: Though, if you expect a discourse, I am wholly
unprepared for the occasion. I would not have it, replied
he, pointed to any particular occasion; but if you have one
upon the text—There is more joy in Heaven over one sinner
that repenteth, than over ninety-nine just persons that need
no repentance; and if it makes me not such a sad fellow as
to be pointed at by mine and the ladies' servants we shall
have here, I shall be well content. 'Tis a general subject,
added he, makes me speak of that; but any one you please
will do; for you cannot make a bad choice, I am sure.
Sir, said he, I have one upon that text; but I am ready
to think, that a thanksgiving one, which I made on a great
mercy to myself, if I may be permitted to make my own
acknowledgments of your favour the subject of a discourse,
will be suitable to my grateful sentiments. It is on the
text;—Now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace; for mine
eyes have seen thy salvation.
That text, said I, will be a very suitable one for me.
Not so, Pamela, said my master; because I don't let you
depart in peace; but I hope you will stay here with content.
O but, sir, said I, I have seen God's salvation!—I am
sure, added I, if any body ever had reason, I have to say,
with the blessed virgin, My soul doth magnify the Lord; for
he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden—and
exalted one of low degree.
Said my good father, I am sure, if there were time for
it, the book of Ruth would afford a fine subject for the
honour done my dear child.
Why, good Mr. Andrews, said my master, should you say
so?—I know that story, and Mr. Williams will confirm what I
say, that my good girl here will confer at least as much
honour as she will receive.
Sir, said I, you are inexpressibly generous; but I shall
never think so. Why, my Pamela, said he, that's another
thing: It will be best for me to think you will; and it will
be kind in you to think you shan't; and then we shall always
have an excellent rule to regulate our conduct by to one
another.
Was not this finely, nobly, wisely said, my dear
mother?—O what a blessed thing it is to be matched to a man
of sense and generosity!—How edifying! How!—But what shall I
say?—I am at loss for words.
Mr. Williams said, when we came out of the little chapel,
He would go home, and look over his discourses, for one for
the next day. My master said, I have one thing to say before
you go—When my jealousy, on account of this good girl, put
me upon such a vindictive conduct to you, you know I took a
bond for the money I had caused you to be troubled for: I
really am ashamed of the matter; because I never intended,
when I presented it to you, to have it again, you may be
sure: But I knew not what might happen between you and her,
nor how far matters might have gone between you; and so I
was willing to have that in awe over you. And I think it is
no extraordinary present, therefore, to give you up your
bond again cancelled. And so he took it from his pocket, and
gave it him. I think, added he, all the charges attending
it, and the trouble you had, were defrayed by my attorney; I
ordered that they should. They were, sir, said he; and ten
thousand thanks to you for this goodness, and the kind
manner in which you do it.—If you will go, Mr. Williams,
said he, shall my chariot carry you home? No, sir, answered
he, I thank you. My time will be so well employed all the
way, in thinking of your favours, that I choose to meditate
upon them, as I walk home.
My dear father was a little uneasy about his habit, for
appearing at chapel next day, because of Misses Darnford and
the servants, for fear, poor man, he should disgrace my
master; and he told me, when he was mentioning this, of my
master's kind present of twenty guineas for clothes, for you
both; which made my heart truly joyful. But oh! to be sure,
I can never deserve the hundredth part of his goodness!—It
is almost a hard thing to be under the weight of such deep
obligations on one side, and such a sense of one's own
unworthiness on the other.—O! what a Godlike power is that
of doing good!—I envy the rich and the great for nothing
else.
My master coming to us just then, I said, Oh! sir, will
your bounty know no limits? My dear father has told me what
you have given him.—A trifle, Pamela, said he, a little
earnest only of my kindness.—Say no more of it. But did I
not hear the good man expressing some sort of concern for
somewhat? Hide nothing from me, Pamela. Only, sir, said I,
he knew not how to absent himself from divine service, and
yet is afraid of disgracing you by appearing.
Fie, Mr. Andrews! said he, I thought you knew that the
outward appearance was nothing. I wish I had as good a habit
inwardly as you have. But I'll tell you, Pamela, your father
is not so much thinner than I am, nor much shorter; he and I
will walk up together to my wardrobe; though it is not so
well stored here, as in Bedfordshire.
And so, said he, pleasantly, don't you pretend to come
near us, till I call for you; for you must not yet see how
men dress and undress themselves. O sir, said my father, I
beg to be excused. I am sorry you were told. So am not I,
said my master: Pray come along with me.
He carried him up stairs, and shewed him several suits,
and would have had him take his choice. My poor father was
quite confounded: for my master saw not any he thought too
good, and my father none that he thought bad enough. And my
good master, at last, (he fixed his eye upon a fine drab,
which he thought looked the plainest,) would help him to try
the coat and waistcoat on himself; and, indeed, one would
not have thought it, because my master is taller, and rather
plumper, as I thought but, as I saw afterwards, they fitted
him very well. And being plain, and lined with the same
colour, and made for travelling in a coach, pleased my poor
father much. He gave him the whole suit, and, calling up
Mrs. Jewkes, said, Let these clothes be well aired against
tomorrow morning. Mr. Andrews brought only with him his
common apparel, not thinking to stay Sunday with us. And
pray see for some of my stockings, and whether any of my
shoes will fit him: And see also for some of my linen; for
we have put the good man quite out of his course, by keeping
him Sunday over. He was then pleased to give him the silver
buckles out of his own shoes. So, my good mother, you must
expect to see my dear father a great beau. Wig, said my
master, he wants none; for his own venerable white locks are
better than all the perukes in England.—But I am sure I have
hats enough somewhere.—I'll take care of every thing, sir,
said Mrs. Jewkes.—And my poor father, when he came to me,
could not refrain tears. I know not how, said he, to comport
myself under these great favours. O my child, it is all
owing to the divine goodness, and your virtue.
Sunday.
This blessed day all the family seemed to take delight to
equip themselves for the celebration of the Sabbath in the
little chapel; and Lady Jones and Mr. Williams came in her
chariot, and the two Misses Darnford in their own. And we
breakfasted together in a most agreeable manner. My dear
father appeared quite spruce and neat, and was quite
caressed by the three ladies. As we were at breakfast, my
master told Mr. Williams, We must let the Psalms alone, he
doubted, for want of a clerk: but Mr. Williams said, No,
nothing should be wanting that he could supply. My father
said, If it might be permitted him, he would, as well as he
was able, perform that office; for it was always what he had
taken delight in. And as I knew he had learnt psalmody
formerly, in his youth, and had constantly practised it in
private, at home, on Sunday evenings, (as well as
endeavoured to teach it in the little school he so
unsuccessfully set up, at the beginning of his misfortunes,
before he took to hard labour,) I was in no pain for his
undertaking it in this little congregation. They seemed much
pleased with this; and so we went to chapel, and made a
pretty tolerable appearance; Mrs. Jewkes, and all the
servants, attending, but the cook: And I never saw divine
service performed with more solemnity, nor assisted at with
greater devotion and decency; my master, Lady Jones, and the
two misses, setting a lovely example.
My good father performed his part with great applause,
making the responses, as if he had been a practised
parish-clerk; and giving the xxiiid psalm,
[The Lord is only my support,
And he that doth me feed:
How can I then lack any thing
Whereof I stand in need?
In pastures green he feedeth me,
Where I do safely lie;
And after leads me to the streams,
Which run most pleasantly.
And when I find myself near lost,
Then home he doth me take;
Conducting me in his right paths,
E'en for his own name's sake.
And tho' I were e'en at death's door,
Yet would I fear no ill:
For both thy rod and shepherd's crook
Afford me comfort still.
Thou hast my table richly spread
In presence of my foe:
Thou hast my head with balm refresh'd,
My cup doth overflow.
And finally, while breath doth last,
Thy grace shall me defend:
And in the house of God will I
My life for ever spend.]
which consisted of but three staves, we had it all; and
he read the line, and began the tune with a heart so
entirely affected with the duty, that he went through it
distinctly, calmly, and fervently at the same time; so that
Lady Jones whispered me, That good man were fit for all
companies, and present to every laudable occasion: And Miss
Darnford said, God bless the dear good man!—You must think
how I rejoiced in my mind.
I know, my dear mother, you can say most of the shortest
psalms by heart; so I need not transcribe it, especially as
your chief treasure is a bible; and a worthy treasure it is.
I know nobody makes more or better use of it.
Mr. Williams gave us an excellent discourse on liberality
and generosity, and the blessings attending the right use of
riches, from the xith chapter of Proverbs, ver. 24, 25.
There is that scattereth, and yet increaseth; and there is
that withholdeth more than is meet, but it tendeth to
poverty. The liberal soul shall be made fat: And he that
watereth, shall be watered also himself. And he treated the
subject in so handsome a manner, that my master's delicacy,
who, at first, was afraid of some personal compliments, was
not offended. Mr. Williams judiciously keeping to generals;
and it was an elegant and sensible discourse, as my master
said.
My father was in the clerk's place, just under the desk;
and Lady Jones, by her footman, whispered him to favour us
with another psalm, when the sermon was ended. He thinking,
as he said afterwards, that the former was rather of the
longest, chose the shortest in the book, which you know is
the cxviith.
[O all ye nations of the world,
Praise ye the Lord always:
And all ye people every where
Set forth his noble praise.
For great his kindness is to us;
His truth doth not decay:
Wherefore praise ye the Lord our God;
Praise ye the Lord alway.]
My master thanked Mr. Williams for his excellent
discourse, and so did the ladies; as also did I most
heartily: and he was pleased to take my dear father by the
hand, as did also Mr. Williams, and thanked him. The ladies,
likewise, made him their compliments; and the servants all
looked upon him with countenances of respect and pleasure.
At dinner, do what I could, I was forced to take the
upper end of the table; and my master sat at the lower end,
between Mr. Williams and my father. And he said, Pamela, you
are so dexterous, that I think you may help the ladies
yourself; and I will help my two good friends. I should have
told you, though, that I dressed myself in a flowered satin,
that was my lady's, and looked quite fresh and good, and
which was given me, at first, by my master; and the ladies,
who had not seen me out of my homespun before, made me
abundance of fine compliments, as soon as they saw me first.
Talking of the Psalms just after dinner, my master was
very naughty, if I may so say: For he said to my father, Mr.
Andrews, I think in the afternoon, as we shall have only
prayers, we may have one longer psalm; and what think you of
the cxxxviith? O, good sir! said I, pray, pray, not a word
more! Say what you will, Pamela, said he, you shall sing it
to us, according to your on version, before these good
ladies go away. My father smiled, but was half concerned for
me; and said, Will it bear, and please your honour?—O ay,
said he, never fear it; so long as Mrs. Jewkes is not in the
hearing.
This excited all the ladies' curiosity; and Lady Jones
said, She would be loath to desire to hear any thing that
would give me concern; but should be glad I would give leave
for it. Indeed, madam, said I, I must beg you won't insist
upon it. I cannot bear it.—You shall see it, indeed, ladies,
said my master; and pray, Pamela, not always as you please,
neither.—Then, pray sir, said I, not in my hearing, I
hope.—Sure, Pamela, returned he, you would not write what is
not fit to be heard!—But, sir, said I, there are particular
cases, times, and occasions, that may make a thing passable
at one time, that would not be tolerable at another. O, said
he, let me judge of that, as well as you, Pamela. These
ladies know a good part of your story; and, let me tell you,
what they know is more to your credit than mine; so that if
I have no averseness to reviving the occasion, you may very
well bear it. Said he, I will put you out of your pain,
Pamela: here it is: and took it out of his pocket.
I stood up, and said, Indeed, sir, I can't bear it; I
hope you'll allow me to leave the room a minute, if you will
read it. Indeed but I won't, answered he. Lady Jones said,
Pray, good sir, don't let us hear it, if Mrs. Andrews be so
unwilling. Well, Pamela, said my master, I will put it to
your choice, whether I shall read it now, or you will sing
it by and by. That's very hard, sir, said I. It must be one,
I assure you, said he. Why then, sir, replied I, you must do
as you please; for I cannot sing it.
Well, then, said my master, I find I must read it; and
yet, added he, after all, I had as well let it alone, for it
is no great reputation to myself. O then, said Miss
Darnford, pray let us hear it, to choose.
Why then, proceeded he, the case was this: Pamela, I
find, when she was in the time of her confinement, (that is,
added he, when she was taken prisoner, in order to make me
one; for that is the upshot of the matter,) in the journal
she kept, which was intended for nobody's perusal but her
parents, tells them, that she was importuned, one Sunday, by
Mrs. Jewkes, to sing a psalm; but her spirits not
permitting, she declined it: But after Mrs. Jewkes was gone
down, she says, she recollected, that the cxxxviith psalm
was applicable to her own case; Mrs. Jewkes having often, on
other days, in vain, besought her to sing a song: That
thereupon she turned it more to her own supposed case; and
believing Mrs. Jewkes had a design against her honour, and
looking upon her as her gaoler, she thus gives her version
of this psalm. But pray, Mr. Williams, do you read one verse
of the common translation, and I will read one of Pamela's.
Then Mr. Williams, pulling out his little pocket
Common-Prayer-Book, read the first two stanzas:
I.
When we did sit in Babylon,
The rivers round about;
Then in remembrance of Sion,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
We hang'd our harps and instruments
The willow trees upon:
For in that place, men, for that use,
Had planted many a one.
My master then read:
I.
When sad I sat in B——n-hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev'ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
The ladies said, It was very pretty; and Miss Darnford,
That somebody else had more need to be concerned than the
versifier.
I knew, said my master, I should get no credit by shewing
this. But let us read on, Mr. Williams. So Mr. Williams
read:
III.
Then they, to whom we pris'ners were,
Said to us, tauntingly,
Now let us hear your Hebrew songs,
And pleasant melody.
Now this, said my master, is very near; and read:
III.
Then she, to whom I prisoner was,
Said to me tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song,
And tune your mind to joy.
Mighty sweet, said Mr. Williams. But let us see how the
next verse is turned. It is this:
IV.
Alas! said we; who can once frame
His heavy heart to sing
The praises of our living God,
Thus under a strange king?
Why, said my master, it is turned with beautiful
simplicity, thus:
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall'd
By such a wicked thing?
Very pretty, said Mr. Williams. Lady Jones said, O, dear
madam! could you wish that we should be deprived of this new
instance of your genius and accomplishments?
O! said my dear father, you will make my good child
proud. No, said my master very generously, Pamela can't be
proud. For no one is proud to hear themselves praised, but
those who are not used to it.—But proceed, Mr. Williams. He
read:
V.
But yet, if I Jerusalem
Out of my heart let slide;
Then let my fingers quite forget
The warbling harp to guide.
Well, now, said my master, for Pamela's version:
V.
But yet, if from my innocence
I ev'n in thought should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
Mr. Williams read:
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,
Be ty'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
Thy full deliv'rance past.
This, also, said my master, is very near:
VI.
And let my tongue, within my mouth,
Be lock'd for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv'rance past.
Now, good sir, said I, oblige me; don't read any further:
pray don't! O pray, madam, said Mr. Williams, let me beg to
have the rest read; for I long to know whom you make the
Sons of Edom, and how you turn the Psalmist's execrations
against the insulting Babylonians.
Well, Mr. Williams, replied I, you should not have said
so. O, said my master, that is one of the best things of
all. Poor Mrs. Jewkes stands for Edom's Sons; and we must
not lose this, because I think it one of my Pamela's
excellencies, that, though thus oppressed, she prays for no
harm upon the oppressor. Read, Mr. Williams, the next
stanza. So he read:
VII.
Therefore, O Lord! remember now
The cursed noise and cry,
That Edom's sons against us made,
When they ras'd our city.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, their cruel words,
When, with a mighty sound,
They cried, Down, yea down with it,
Unto the very ground!
Well, said my master, here seems, in what I am going to
read, a little bit of a curse indeed, but I think it makes
no ill figure in the comparison.
VII.
And thou, Almighty! recompense
The evils I endure
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
And now, said he, for Edom's Sons. Though a little severe
in the imputation.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
Sure, sir, said I, this might have been spared! But the
ladies and Mr. Williams said, No, by no means! And I see the
poor wicked woman has no favourers among them.
Now, said my master, read the Psalmist's heavy curses:
and Mr. Williams read:
IX.
Ev'n so shalt thou, O Babylon!
At length to dust be brought:
And happy shall that man be call'd,
That our revenge hath wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call'd
That takes thy little ones,
And dasheth them in pieces small
Against the very stones.
Thus he said, very kindly, has my Pamela turned these
lines:
IX.
Ev'n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought;
And happy shall all those be call'd,
That my deliv'rance wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be call'd
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the d—-l.
I fancy this blessed man, said my master smiling, was, at
that time, hoped to be you, Mr. Williams, if the truth was
known. Sir, said he, whoever it was intended for then, it
can be nobody but your good self now.
I could hardly hold up my head for the praises the kind
ladies were pleased to heap upon me. I am sure, by this,
they are very partial in my favour; all because my master is
so good to me, and loves to hear me praised; for I see no
such excellence in these lines, as they would make me
believe, besides what is borrowed from the Psalmist.
We all, as before, and the cook-maid too, attended the
prayers of the church in the afternoon; and my dear father
concluded with the following stanzas of the cxlvth psalm;
suitably magnifying the holy name of God for all mercies;
but did not observe, altogether, the method in which they
stand; which was the less necessary, he thought, as he gave
out the lines.
The Lord is just in all his ways:
His works are holy all:
And he is near all those that do
In truth upon him call.
He the desires of all them
That fear him, will fulfil;
And he will hear them when they cry,
And save them all he will.
The eyes of all do wait on thee;
Thou dost them all relieve:
And thou to each sufficient food,
In season due, dost give.
Thou openest thy plenteous hand,
And bounteously dost fill
All things whatever, that do live,
With gifts of thy good will.
My thankful mouth shall gladly speak
The praises of the Lord:
All flesh, to praise his holy name,
For ever shall accord.
We walked in the garden till tea was ready; and as he
went by the back-door, my master said to me, Of all the
flowers in the garden, the sun-flower is the fairest!—O,
sir, said I, let that be now forgot! Mr. Williams heard him
say so, and seemed a little out of countenance: Whereupon my
master said, I mean not to make you serious, Mr. Williams;
but we see how strangely things are brought about. I see
other scenes hereabouts, that, in my Pamela's dangers, give
me more cause of concern, than any thing you ever did should
give you. Sir, said he, you are very generous.
My master and Mr. Williams afterwards walked together for
a quarter of an hour; and talked about general things, and
some scholastic subjects; and joined us, very well pleased
with one another's conversation.
Lady Jones said, putting herself on one side of me, as my
master was on the other, But pray, sir, when is the happy
time to be? We want it over, that we may have you with us as
long afterwards as you can. Said my master, I would have it
to-morrow, or next day at farthest, if Pamela will: for I
have sent for a license, and the messenger will be here
to-night, or early in the morning, I hope. But, added he,
pray, Pamela, do not take beyond Thursday. She was pleased
to say, Sure it will not be delayed by you, madam, more than
needs!—Well, said he, now you are on my side, I will leave
you with her to settle it: and, I hope, she will not let
little bashful niceties be important with her; and so he
joined the two misses.
Lady Jones told me, I was to blame, she would take upon
her to say, if I delayed it a moment; because she understood
Lady Davers was very uneasy at the prospect, that it would
be so; and if any thing should happen, it would be a sad
thing!—Madam, said I, when he was pleased to mention it to
me first, he said it should be in fourteen days; and
afterwards, asked me if I would have it in the first or the
second seven? I answered—for how could I do otherwise?—In
the second. He desired it might not be the last day of the
second seven. Now, madam, said I, as he was then pleased to
speak his mind, no doubt, I would not, for any thing, seem
too forward.
Well, but, said she, as he now urges you in so genteel
and gentlemanly a manner for a shorter day, I think, if I
was in your place, I would agree to it. She saw me hesitate
and blush, and said, Well, you know best; but I say only
what I would do. I said, I would consider of it; and if I
saw he was very earnest, to be sure I should think I ought
to oblige him.
Misses Darnford were begging to be at the wedding, and to
have a ball: and they said, Pray, Mrs. Andrews, second our
requests, and we shall be greatly obliged to you. Indeed,
ladies, said I, I cannot promise that, if I might.—Why so?
said they.—Because, answered I—I know not what! But I think
one may, with pleasure, celebrate an anniversary of one's
nuptials; but the day itself—Indeed, ladies, I think it is
too solemn a business, for the parties of our sex to be very
gay upon: it is a quite serious and awful affair: and I am
sure, in your own cases, you would be of my mind. Why, then,
said Miss Darnford, the more need one has to be as
light-hearted and merry as one can.
I told you, said my master, what sort of an answer you'd
have from Pamela. The younger miss said, She never heard of
such grave folks in her life, on such an occasion: Why, sir,
said she, I hope you'll sing psalms all day, and miss will
fast and pray! Such sackcloth and ashes doings, for a
wedding, did I never hear of!—She spoke a little spitefully,
I thought; and I returned no answer. I shall have enough to
do, I reckon, in a while, if I am to answer every one that
will envy me!
We went in to tea; and all that the ladies could prevail
upon my master for, was a dancing match before he left this
county: But Miss Darnford said, It should then be at their
house; for, truly, if she might not be at the wedding, she
would be affronted, and come no more hither, till we had
been there.
When they were gone, my master would have had my father
stay till the affair was over; but he begged he might set
out as soon as it was light in the morning; for, he said, my
mother would be doubly uneasy at his stay; and he burned
with impatience to let her know all the happy things that
had befallen her daughter. When my master found him so
desirous to go, he called Mr. Thomas, and ordered him to get
a particular bay horse ready betimes in the morning, for my
father, and a portmanteau, to put his things in; and to
attend him a day's journey: And if, said he, Mr. Andrews
chooses it, see him safe to his own home: And, added he,
since that horse will serve you, Mr. Andrews, to ride
backwards and forwards, to see us, when we go into
Bedfordshire, I make you a present of it, with the
accoutrements. And, seeing my father going to speak, he
added, I won't be said nay. O how good was this!
He also said a great many kind things at supper-time, and
gave him all the papers he had of mine; but desired, when he
and my mother had read them, that he would return them to
him again. And then he said, So affectionate a father and
daughter may, perhaps, be glad to be alone together;
therefore remember me to your good wife, and tell her, it
will not be long, I hope, before I see you together; on a
visit to your daughter, at my other house: and so I wish you
good night, and a good journey, if you go before I see you.
And then he shook hands, and left my dear father almost
unable to speak, through the sense of his favours and
goodness.
You may believe, my dear mother, how loath I was to part
with my good father; and he was also unwilling to part with
me; but he was so impatient to see you, and tell you the
blessed tidings, with which his heart overflowed, that I
could hardly wish to detain him.
Mrs. Jewkes brought two bottles of cherry-brandy, and two
of cinnamon-water, and some cake; and they were put up in
the portmanteau, with my father's newly presented clothes;
for he said, He would not, for any thing, be seen in them in
his neighbourhood, till I was actually known, by every body,
to be married; nor would he lay out any part of the twenty
guineas till then neither, for fear of reflections; and then
he would consult me as to what he would buy. Well, said I,
as you please, my dear father; and I hope now we shall often
have the pleasure of hearing from one another, without
needing any art or contrivances.
He said, He would go to bed betimes, that he might be up
as soon as it was light; and so he took leave of me, and
said, He would not love me, if I got up in the morning to
see him go; which would but make us both loath to part, and
grieve us both all day.
Mr. Thomas brought him a pair of boots, and told him, He
would call him up at peep of day, and put up every thing
over night; and so I received his blessing, and his prayers,
and his kind promises of procuring the same from you, my
dear mother; and went up to my closet with a heavy heart,
and yet a half-pleased one, if I may so say; for that, as he
must go, he was going to the best of wives, and with the
best of tidings. But I begged he would not work so hard as
he had done; for I was sure my master would not have given
him twenty guineas for clothes, if he had not designed to do
something else for him; and that he should be the less
concerned at receiving benefits, from my good master,
because he, who had so many persons to employ in his large
possessions, could make him serviceable, to a degree
equivalent, without hurting any body else.
He promised me fair; and, pray, dear mother, see he
performs. I hope my master will not see this: for I will not
send it you, at present, till I can send you the best of
news; and the rather, as my dear father can supply the
greatest part of what I have written, since the papers he
carries you, by his own observation. So good night, my dear
mother: And God send my father a safe journey, and a happy
meeting to you both!
Monday.
Mr. Colbrand being returned, my master came up to me to
my closet, and brought me the license. O how my heart
fluttered at the sight of it! Now, Pamela, said he, tell me,
if you can oblige me with the day. Your word is all that's
wanting. I made bold to kiss his dear hand; and, though
unable to look up, said—I know not what to say, sir, to all
your goodness: I would not, for any consideration, that you
should believe me capable of receiving negligently an
honour, that all the duty of a long life, were it to be lent
me, will not be sufficient to enable me to be grateful for.
I ought to resign myself, in every thing I may or can,
implicitly to your will. But—But what? said he, with a kind
impatience.—Why, sir, said I, when from last Thursday you
mentioned four days, I had reason to think that term your
choice; and my heart is so wholly yours, that I am afraid of
nothing, but that I may be forwarder than you wish.
Impossible, my dear creature! said he, and folded me in his
arms: Impossible! If this be all, it shall be set about this
moment, and this happy day shall make you mine!—I'll send
away instantly, said the dear gentleman; and was going.
I said, No, pray, sir, pray, sir, hear me!—Indeed it
cannot be to-day!—Cannot! said he.—No, indeed, sir! said
I—And was ready to sink to see his generous impatience. Why
flattered you then my fond heart, replied he, with the hope
that it might?—Sir, said I, I will tell you what I had
thought, if you'll vouchsafe me your attention. Do then,
said he.
I have, sir, proceeded I, a great desire, that, whenever
the day is, it may be on a Thursday: On a Thursday my dear
father and mother were married; and, though poor, they are a
very happy pair.—On a Thursday your poor Pamela was born. On
a Thursday my dear good lady took me from my parents into
her protection. On a Thursday, sir, you caused me to be
carried away to this place, to which I now, by God's
goodness, and your favour, owe so amazingly all my present
prospects; and on a Thursday it was, you named to me, that
fourteen days from that you would confirm my happiness. Now,
sir, if you please to indulge my superstitious folly, you
will greatly oblige me. I was sorry, sir, for this reason,
when you bid me not defer till the last day of the fourteen,
that Thursday in next week was that last day.
This, Pamela, is a little superstitious, I must needs
say; and I think you should begin now to make another day in
the week a happy one; as for example; on a Monday, may you
say, my father and mother concluded to be married on the
Thursday following. On a Monday, so many years ago, my
mother was preparing all her matters to be brought to bed on
the Thursday following. On a Monday, several weeks ago, it
was that you had but two days more to stay, till you was
carried away on Thursday. On a Monday, I myself, said he,
well remember, it was that I wrote you the letter, that
prevailed on you so kindly to return to me; and on the same
day you did return to my house here; which I hope, my girl,
will be as propitious an era as any you have named: And now,
lastly, will you say, which will crown the work; And, on a
Monday I was married.—Come, come, my dear, added he,
Thursday has reigned long enough o'conscience; let us now
set Monday in its place, or at least on an equality with it,
since you see it has a very good title, and as we now stand
in the week before us, claims priority: And then, I hope, we
shall make Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday,
as happy days as Monday and Thursday; and so, by God's
blessing, move round, as the days move, in a delightful
circle, till we are at a loss what day to prefer to the
rest.
O how charmingly was this said!—And how sweetly kind!
Indeed, sir, said I, you rally my folly very agreeably;
but don't let a little matter stand in the way, when you are
so generously obliging in a greater: Indeed I like Thursday
best, if I may choose.
Well, then, said he, if you can say you have a better
reason than this, I will oblige you; else I'll send away for
the parson this moment.
And so, I protest, he was going!—Dear sirs, how I
trembled! Stay, stay, sir, said I: we have a great deal to
say first; I have a deal of silly prate to trouble you
with!—Well, say then, in a minute, replied he, the most
material: for all we have to say may be talked of while the
parson is coming.—O, but indeed, and indeed, said I, it
cannot be to-day!—Well, then, shall it be to-morrow? said
he.—Why, sir, if it must not be on a Thursday, you have
given so many pleasant distinctions for a Monday, that let
it then be next Monday.—What! a week still? said he. Sir,
answered I, if you please; for that will be, as you
enjoined, within the second seven days. Why, girl, said he,
'twill be seven months till next Monday. Let it, said he, if
not to-morrow, be on Wednesday; I protest I will stay no
longer.
Then, sir, returned I, please to defer it, however, for
one day more, and it will be my beloved Thursday! If I
consent to defer it till then, may I hope, my Pamela, said
he, that next Thursday shall certainly be the happy
day?—Yes, sir, said I and I am sure I looked very foolishly!
And yet, my dear father and mother, why should I, with
such a fine gentleman? And whom I so dearly love? And so
much to my honour too? But there is something greatly awful
upon my mind, in the solemn circumstance, and a change of
condition never to be recalled, though all the prospects are
so desirable. And I can but wonder at the thoughtless
precipitancy with which most young folks run into this
important change of life!
So now, my dear parents, have I been brought to fix so
near a day as next Thursday; and this is Monday. O dear, it
makes one out of breath almost to think of it! This, though,
was a great cut off; a whole week out of ten days. I hope I
am not too forward! I'm sure, if it obliges my dear master,
I am justified; for he deserves of me all things in my poor
power.
After this, he rode out on horseback, attended by
Abraham, and did not return till night. How by degrees
things steal upon one! I thought even this small absence
tedious; and the more, as we expected him home to dinner.—I
wish I may not be too fond, and make him indifferent: But
yet, my dear father and mother, you were always fond of one
another, and never indifferent, let the world run as it
would.
When he returned, he said, He had had a pleasant ride,
and was led out to a greater distance than he intended. At
supper he told me, that he had a great mind Mr. Williams
should marry us; because, he said, it would shew a thorough
reconciliation on his part. But, said he, most generously, I
am apprehensive, from what passed between you, that the poor
man will take it hardly, and as a sort of insult, which I am
not capable of. What says my girl?—Do you think he would? I
hope not, sir, said I: As to what he may think, I can't
answer; but as to any reason for his thoughts, I can: For
indeed, sir, said I, you have been already so generous, that
he cannot, I think, mistake your goodness.
He then spoke with some resentment of Lady Davers's
behaviour, and I asked, if any thing new had occurred? Yes,
said he; I have had a letter delivered me from her
impertinent husband, professedly at her instigation, that
amounted to little less than a piece of insolent bravery, on
supposing I was about to marry you. I was so provoked, added
he, that after I had read it, I tore it in a hundred pieces,
and scattered them in the air, and bid the man who brought
it let his master know what I had done with his letter; and
so would not permit him to speak to me, as he would fain
have done,—I think the fellow talked somewhat of his lady
coming hither; but she shall not set her foot within my
doors; and I suppose this treatment will hinder her.
I was much concerned at this: And he said, Had I a
hundred sisters, Pamela, their opposition should have no
weight with me: and I did not intend you should know it; but
you can't but expect a little difficulty from the pride of
my sister, who have suffered so much from that of her
brother; and we are too nearly allied in mind, as well as
blood, I find.—But this is not her business: And if she
would have made it so, she should have done it with more
decency. Little occasion had she to boast of her birth, that
knows not what belongs to good manners.
I said, I am very sorry, sir, to be the unhappy occasion
of a misunderstanding between so good a brother and so
worthy a sister. Don't say so, Pamela, because this is an
unavoidable consequence of the happy prospect before us.
Only bear it well yourself, because she is my sister; and
leave it to me to make her sensible of her own rashness.
If, sir, said I, the most lowly behaviour, and humble
deportment, and in every thing shewing a dutiful regard to
good Lady Davers, will have any weight with her ladyship,
assure yourself of all in my power to mollify her. No,
Pamela, returned he; don't imagine, when you are my wife, I
will suffer you to do any thing unworthy of that character.
I know the duty of a husband, and will protect your
gentleness to the utmost, as much as if you were a princess
by descent.
You are inexpressibly good, sir, said I; but I am far
from taking a gentle disposition to shew a meanness of
spirit: And this is a trial I ought to expect; and well I
may bear it, that have so many benefits to set against it,
which all spring from the same cause.
Well, said he, all the matter shall be this: We will talk
of our marriage as a thing to be done next week. I find I
have spies upon me wherever I go, and whatever I do: But
now, I am on so laudable a pursuit, that I value them not,
nor those who employ them. I have already ordered my
servants to have no conference with any body for ten or
twelve days to come. And Mrs. Jewkes tells me every one
names Thursday come se'nnight for our nuptials. So I will
get Mr. Peters, who wants to see my little chapel, to assist
Mr. Williams, under the notion of breakfasting with me next
Thursday morning, since you won't have it sooner; and there
will nobody else be wanting; and I will beg of Mr. Peters to
keep it private, even from his own family, for a few days.
Has my girl any objection?
O, sir, answered I, you are so generous in all your ways,
I can have no objections!—But I hope Lady Davers and you
will not proceed to irreconcilable lengths; and when her
ladyship comes to see you, and to tarry with you, two or
three weeks, as she used to do, I will keep close up, so as
not to disgust her with the sight of me.
Well, Pamela, said he, we will talk of that afterwards.
You must do then as I shall think fit: And I shall be able
to judge what both you and I ought to do. But what still
aggravates the matter is, that she should instigate the
titled ape her husband to write to me, after she had so
little succeeded herself. I wish I had kept his letter, that
I might have shewn you how a man, that generally acts like a
fool, can take upon him to write like a lord. But I suppose
it is of my sister's penning, and he, poor man! is the
humble copier.
Tuesday.
Mr. Thomas is returned from you, my dear father, with the
good news of your health, and your proceeding in your
journey to my dear mother, where I hope to hear soon you are
arrived. My master has just now been making me play upon the
spinnet, and sing to it; and was pleased to commend me for
both. But he does so for every thing I do, so partial does
his goodness make him to me.
One o'clock.
We are just returned from an airing in the chariot; and I
have been delighted with his conversation upon English
authors, poets particularly. He entertained me also with a
description of some of the curiosities he had seen in Italy
and France, when he made what the polite world call the
grand tour. He said he wanted to be at his other seat, for
he knew not well how to employ himself here, having not
proposed to stay half the time: And when I get there,
Pamela, said he, you will hardly be troubled with so much of
my company, after we have settled; for I have a great many
things to adjust: And I must go to London; for I have
accounts that have run on longer than ordinary with my
banker there. And I don't know, added he, but the ensuing
winter I may give you a little taste of the diversions of
the town for a month or so. I said, His will and pleasure
should determine mine; and I never would, as near as I
could, have a desire after those, or any other
entertainments that were not in his own choice.
He was pleased to say, I make no doubt but that I shall
be very happy in you; and hope you will be so in me: For,
said he, I have no very enormous vices to gratify; though I
pretend not to the greatest purity, neither, my girl. Sir,
said I, if you can account to your own mind, I shall always
be easy in whatever you do. But our greatest happiness here,
sir, continued I, is of very short duration; and this life,
at the longest, is a poor transitory one; and I hope we
shall be so happy as to be enabled to look forward, with
comfort, to another, where our pleasures will be
everlasting.
You say well, Pamela; and I shall, by degrees, be more
habituated to this way of thinking, as I more and more
converse with you; but, at present, you must not be over
serious with me all at once: though I charge you never
forbear to mingle your sweet divinity in our conversation,
whenever it can be brought in a propos, and with such a
cheerfulness of temper, as shall not throw a gloomy cloud
over our innocent enjoyments.
I was abashed at this, and silent, fearing I had
offended: But he said, If you attend rightly to what I said,
I need not tell you again, Pamela, not to be discouraged
from suggesting to me, on every proper occasion, the pious
impulses of your own amiable mind. Sir, said I, you will be
always indulgent, I make no doubt, to my imperfections, so
long as I mean well.
My master made me dine with him, and would eat nothing
but what I helped him to; and my heart is, every hour, more
and more enlarged with his goodness and condescension. But
still, what ails me, I wonder! A strange sort of weight
hangs upon my mind, as Thursday draws on, which makes me
often sigh involuntarily, and damps, at times, the pleasures
of my delightful prospects!—I hope this is not ominous; but
only the foolish weakness of an over-thoughtful mind, on an
occasion the most solemn and important of one's life, next
to the last scene, which shuts up all.
I could be very serious: But I will commit all my ways to
that blessed Providence, which hitherto has so wonderfully
conducted me through real evils to this hopeful situation.
I only fear, and surely I have great reason, that I shall
be too unworthy to hold the affections of so dear a
gentleman!—God teach me humility, and to know my own
demerit! And this will be, next to his grace, my surest
guard, in the state of life to which, though most unworthy,
I am going to be exalted. And don't cease your prayers for
me, my dear parents; for, perhaps, this new condition may be
subject to still worse hazards than those I have escaped; as
would be the case, were conceitedness, vanity, and pride, to
take hold of my frail heart; and if I was, for my sins, to
be left to my own conduct, a frail bark in a tempestuous
ocean, without ballast, or other pilot than my own
inconsiderate will. But my master said, on another occasion,
That those who doubted most, always erred least; and I hope
I shall always doubt my own strength, my own worthiness.
I will not trouble you with twenty sweet agreeable things
that passed in conversation with my excellent benefactor;
nor with the civilities of M. Colbrand, Mrs. Jewkes, and all
the servants, who seem to be highly pleased with me, and
with my conduct to them: And as my master, hitherto, finds
no fault that I go too low, nor they that I carry it too
high, I hope I shall continue to have every body's
good-will: But yet will I not seek to gain any one's by
little meannesses or debasements! but aim at an uniform and
regular conduct, willing to conceal involuntary errors, as I
would have my own forgiven; and not too industrious to
discover real ones, or to hide such, if any such should
appear, as might encourage bad hearts, or unclean hands, in
material cases, where my master should receive damage, or
where the morals of the transgressors should appear wilfully
and habitually corrupt. In short, I will endeavour, as much
as I can, that good servants shall find in me a kind
encourager; indifferent ones be made better, by inspiring
them with a laudable emulation; and bad ones, if not too bad
in nature, and quite irreclaimable, reformed by kindness,
expostulation, and even proper menaces, if necessary; but
most by a good example: All this if God pleases.
Wednesday.
Now, my dear parents, I have but this one day between me
and the most solemn rite that can be performed. My heart
cannot yet shake off this heavy weight. Sure I am ungrateful
to the divine goodness, and the favour of the best of
benefactors!—Yet I hope I am not!—For, at times, my mind is
all exultation, with the prospect of what good to-morrow's
happy solemnity may possibly, by the leave of my generous
master, put it in my power to do. O how shall I find words
to express, as I ought, my thankfulness, for all the mercies
before me!
Wednesday evening.
My dear master is all love and tenderness. He sees my
weakness, and generously pities and comforts me! I begged to
be excused supper; but he brought me down himself from my
closet, and placed me by him, bidding Abraham not wait. I
could not eat, and yet I tried, for fear he should be angry.
He kindly forbore to hint any thing of the dreadful, yet
delightful to-morrow! and put, now and then, a little bit on
my plate, and guided it to my mouth. I was concerned to
receive his goodness with so ill a grace. Well, said he, if
you won't eat with me, drink at least with me: I drank two
glasses by his over-persuasions, and said, I am really
ashamed of myself. Why, indeed, said he, my dear girl, I am
not a very dreadful enemy, I hope! I cannot bear any thing
that is the least concerning to you. Oh, sir! said I, all is
owing to the sense I have of my own unworthiness!—To be
sure, it cannot be any thing else.
He rung for the things to be taken away; and then reached
a chair, and sat down by me, and put his kind arms about me,
and said the most generous and affecting things that ever
dropt from the honey-flowing mouth of love. All I have not
time to repeat: some I will. And oh! indulge your foolish
daughter, who troubles you with her weak nonsense; because
what she has to say, is so affecting to her; and because, if
she went to bed, instead of scribbling, she could not sleep.
This sweet confusion and thoughtfulness in my beloved
Pamela, said the kind man, on the near approach of our happy
union, when I hope all doubts are cleared up, and nothing of
dishonour is apprehended, shew me most abundantly, what a
wretch I was to attempt such purity with a worse
intention—No wonder, that one so virtuous should find
herself deserted of life itself on a violence so dreadful to
her honour, and seek a refuge in the shadow of death.—But
now, my dearest Pamela, that you have seen a purity on my
side, as nearly imitating your own, as our sex can shew to
yours; and since I have, all the day long, suppressed even
the least intimation of the coming days, that I might not
alarm your tender mind; why all this concern, why all this
affecting, yet sweet confusion? You have a generous friend,
my dear girl, in me; a protector now, not a violator of your
innocence: Why then, once more I ask, this strange
perplexity, this sweet confusion?
O sir, said I, and hid my face on his arm; expect not
reason from a foolish creature: You should have still
indulged me in my closet: I am ready to beat myself for this
ungrateful return to your goodness. But I know not what!—I
am, to be sure, a silly creature! O had you but suffered me
to stay by myself above, I should have made myself ashamed
of so culpable a behaviour!—But goodness added to goodness
every moment, and the sense of my own unworthiness, quite
overcome my spirits.
Now, said the generous man, will I, though reluctantly,
make a proposal to my sweet girl.—If I have been too
pressing for the day: If another day will still be more
obliging: If you have fears you will not then have; you
shall say but the word, and I'll submit. Yes, my Pamela; for
though I have, these three days past, thought every tedious
hour a day, till Thursday comes, if you earnestly desire it,
I will postpone it. Say, my dear girl, freely say; but
accept not my proposal, without great reason, which yet I
will not ask for.
Sir, said I, I can expect nothing but superlative
goodness, I have been so long used to it from you. This is a
most generous instance of it; but I fear—yes, I fear it will
be too much the same thing, some days hence, when the happy,
yet, fool that I am! dreaded time, shall be equally near!
Kind, lovely charmer! said he, now do I see you are to be
trusted with power, from the generous use you make of
it!—Not one offensive word or look, from me, shall wound
your nicest thoughts; but pray try to subdue this
over-scrupulousness, and unseasonable timidity. I persuade
myself you will if you can.
Indeed, sir, I will, said I; for I am quite ashamed of
myself, with all these lovely views before me!—The honours
you do me, the kindness you shew me!—I cannot forgive
myself! For, oh! if I know the least of this idle foolish
heart of mine, it has not a misgiving thought of your
goodness; and I should abhor it, if it were capable of the
least affectation.—But, dear good sir, leave me a little to
myself, and I will take myself to a severer task than your
goodness will let you do and I will present my heart before
you, a worthier offering to you, than at present its wayward
follies will let it seem to be.—But one thing is, one has no
kind friend of one's own sex, to communicate one's foolish
thoughts to, and to be strengthened by their comfortings!
But I am left to myself; and, oh! what a weak silly thing I
am!
He kindly withdrew, to give me time to recollect myself;
and in about half an hour returned: and then, that he might
not begin at once upon the subject, and say, at the same
time, something agreeable to me, said, Your father and
mother have had a great deal of talk by this time about you,
Pamela. O, sir, returned I, your goodness has made them
quite happy! But I can't help being concerned about Lady
Davers.
He said, I am vexed I did not hear the footman out;
because it runs in my head he talked somewhat about her
coming hither. She will meet with but an indifferent
reception from me, unless she comes resolved to behave
better than she writes.
Pray, sir, said I, be pleased to bear with my good lady,
for two reasons. What are they? said he. Why, first, sir,
answered I, because she is your sister; and, to be sure, may
very well think, what all the world will, that you have much
undervalued yourself in making me happy. And next, because,
if her ladyship finds you out of temper with her, it will
still aggravate her more against me; and every time that any
warm words you may have between you, come into her mind, she
will disdain me more.
Don't concern yourself about it, said he; for we have
more proud ladies than she in our other neighbourhood, who,
perhaps, have still less reason to be punctilious about
their descent, and yet will form themselves upon her
example, and say, Why, his own sister will not forgive him,
nor visit him! And so, if I can subdue her spirit, which is
more than her husband ever could, or indeed any body else,
it is a great point gained: And, if she gives me reason,
I'll try for it, I assure you.
Well, but, my dear girl, continued he, since the subject
is so important, may I not say one word about
to-morrow?—Sir, said I, I hope I shall be less a fool: I
have talked as harshly to my heart, as Lady Davers can do;
and the naughty thing suggests to me a better, and more
grateful behaviour.
He smiled, and, kissing me, said, I took notice, Pamela,
of what you observed, that you have none of your own sex
with you; I think it is a little hard upon you; and I should
have liked you should have had Miss Darnford; but then her
sister must have been asked; and I might as well make a
public wedding: which, you know, would have required clothes
and other preparations. Besides, added he, a foolish
proposal was once made me of that second sister, who has two
or three thousand pounds more than the other, left her by a
godmother, and she can't help being a little piqued; though,
said he, it was a proposal they could not expect should
succeed; for there is nothing in her person nor mind; and
her fortune, as that must have been the only inducement,
would not do by any means; and so I discouraged it at once.
I am thinking, sir, said I, of another mortifying thing
too; that were you to marry a lady of birth and fortune
answerable to your own, all the eve to the day would be
taken up in reading, signing, and sealing of settlements,
and portion, and such like: But now the poor Pamela brings
you nothing at all: And the very clothes she wears, so very
low is she, are entirely the effects of your bounty, and
that of your good mother: This makes me a little sad: For,
alas! sir, I am so much oppressed by your favours, and the
sense of the obligations I lie under, that I cannot look up
with the confidence that I otherwise should, on this awful
occasion.
There is, my dear Pamela, said he, where the power is
wanting, as much generosity in the will as in the action. To
all that know your story, and your merit, it will appear
that I cannot recompense you for what I have made you
suffer. You have had too many hard struggles and exercises;
and have nobly overcome: and who shall grudge you the reward
of the hard-bought victory?—This affair is so much the act
of my own will, that I glory in being capable of
distinguishing so much excellence; and my fortune is the
more pleasurable to me, as it gives me hope, that I may make
you some part of satisfaction for what you have undergone.
This, sir, said I, is all goodness, unmerited on my side;
and makes my obligations the greater. I can only wish for
more worthiness.—But how poor is it to offer nothing but
words for such generous deeds!—And to say, I wish!—For what
is a wish, but the acknowledged want of power to oblige, and
a demonstration of one's poverty in every thing but will?
And that, my dear girl, said he, is every thing: 'Tis all
I want: 'Tis all that Heaven itself requires of us: But no
more of these little doubts, though they are the natural
impulses of a generous and grateful heart: I want not to be
employed in settlements. Those are for such to regard, who
make convenience and fortune the prime considerations. I
have possessions ample enough for us both; and you deserve
to share them with me; and you shall do it, with as little
reserve, as if you had brought me what the world reckons an
equivalent: for, as to my own opinion, you bring me what is
infinitely more valuable, an experienced truth, a well-tried
virtue, and a wit and behaviour more than equal to the
station you will be placed in: To say nothing of this sweet
person, that itself might captivate a monarch; and of the
meekness of temper, and sweetness of disposition, which make
you superior to all the women I ever saw.
Thus kind and soothing, and honourably affectionate, was
the dear gentleman, to the unworthy, doubting, yet assured
Pamela; and thus patiently did he indulge, and generously
pardon, my impertinent weakness. He offered to go himself to
Lady Jones, in the morning, and reveal the matter to her,
and desire her secrecy and presence; but I said, That would
disoblige the young Ladies Darnford. No, sir, said I, I will
cast myself upon your generous kindness; for why should I
fear the kind protector of my weakness, and the guide and
director of my future steps?
You cannot, said he, forgive Mrs. Jewkes; for she must
know it; and suffer her to be with you? Yes, sir, said I, I
can. She is very civil to me now: and her former wickedness
I will forgive, for the sake of the happy fruits that have
attended it; and because you mention her.
Well, said he, I will call her in, if you please.—As you
please, sir, said I. And he rung for her; and when she came
in, he said, Mrs. Jewkes, I am going to entrust you with a
secret. Sir, answered she, I will be sure to keep it as
such. Why, said he, we intend to-morrow, privately as
possible, for our wedding-day; and Mr. Peters and Mr.
Williams are to be here, as to breakfast with me, and to
shew Mr. Peters my little chapel. As soon as the ceremony is
over, we will take a little airing in the chariot, as we
have done at other times; and so it will not be wondered
that we are dressed. And the two parsons have promised
secrecy, and will go home. I believe you can't well avoid
letting one of the maids into the secret; but that I'll
leave to you.
Sir, replied she, we all concluded it would be in a few
days! and I doubt it won't be long a secret. No, said he, I
don't desire it should; but you know we are not provided for
a public wedding, and I shall declare it when we go to
Bedfordshire, which won't be long. But the men, who lie in
the outhouses, need not know it; for, by some means or
other, my sister Davers knows all that passes.
Do you know, sir, said she, that her ladyship intends to
be down here with you in a few days? Her servant told me so,
who brought you the letter you were angry at.
I hope, said he, we shall be set out for t'other house
first; and shall be pleased she loses her labour. Sir,
continued she, her ladyship, proposes to be here time enough
to hinder your nuptials, which she takes, as we did, will be
the latter end of next week. Well, said he, let her come:
but yet I desire not to see her.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Give me leave, madam, to wish you
all manner of happiness: But I am afraid I have too well
obeyed his honour, to be forgiven by you. Indeed, Mrs.
Jewkes, returned I, you will be more your own enemy than I
will be. I will look all forward: and shall not presume, so
much as by a whisper, to set my good master against any one
he pleases to approve of: And as to his old servants, I
shall always value them, and never offer to dictate to his
choice, or influence it by my own caprices.
Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, you find you have no cause
to apprehend any thing. My Pamela is very placable; and as
we have both been sinners together, we must both be included
in one act of grace.
Such an example of condescension, as I have before me,
Mrs. Jewkes, said I, may make you very easy; for I must be
highly unworthy, if I did not forego all my little
resentments, if I had any, for the sake of so much goodness
to myself.
You are very kind, madam, said she; and you may depend
upon it, I will atone for all my faults, by my future duty
and respect to you, as well as to my master.
That's well said on both sides, said he: but, Mrs.
Jewkes, to assure you, that my good girl here has no malice,
she chooses you to attend her in the morning at the
ceremony, and you must keep up her spirits.—I shall, replied
she, be very proud of the honour: But I cannot, madam, but
wonder to see you so very low-spirited, as you have been
these two or three days past, with so much happiness before
you.
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I, there can be but one reason
given; and that is, that I am a sad fool!—But, indeed, I am
not ungrateful neither; nor would I put on a foolish
affectation: But my heart, at times, sinks within me; I know
not why, except at my own unworthiness, and because the
honour done me is too high for me to support myself under,
as I should do. It is an honour, Mrs. Jewkes, added I, I was
not born to; and no wonder, then, I behave so awkwardly. She
made me a fine compliment upon it, and withdrew, repeating
her promises of care, secrecy, etc.
He parted from me with very great tenderness; and I came
up and set to writing, to amuse my thoughts, and wrote thus
far. And Mrs. Jewkes being come up, and it being past
twelve, I will go to bed; but not one wink, I fear, shall I
get this night.—I could beat myself for anger. Sure there is
nothing ominous in this strange folly!—But I suppose all
young maidens are the same, so near so great a change of
condition, though they carry it off more discreetly than I.
Thursday, six o'clock in the morning.
I might as well have not gone to bed last night, for what
sleep I had. Mrs. Jewkes often was talking to me, and said
several things that would have been well enough from any
body else of our sex; but the poor woman has so little
purity of heart, that it is all say from her, and goes no
farther than the ear.
I fancy my master has not slept much neither; for I heard
him up, and walking about his chamber, ever since break of
day. To be sure, good gentleman! he must have some concern,
as well as I; for here he is going to marry a poor foolish
unworthy girl, brought up on the charity, as one may say,
(at least bounty,) of his worthy family! And this foolish
girl must be, to all intents and purposes, after twelve
o'clock this day, as much his wife, as if he were to marry a
duchess!—And here he must stand the shocks of common
reflection! The great Mr. B—— has done finely! he has
married his poor servant wench! will some say. The ridicule
and rude jests of his equals, and companions too, he must
stand: And the disdain of his relations, and indignation of
Lady Davers, his lofty sister! Dear good gentleman! he will
have enough to do, to be sure! O how shall I merit all these
things at his hand! I can only do the best I can; and pray
to God to reward him; and resolve to love him with a pure
heart, and serve him with a sincere obedience. I hope the
dear gentleman will continue to love me for this; for, alas!
I have nothing else to offer! But, as I can hardly expect so
great a blessing, if I can be secure from his contempt, I
shall not be unfortunate; and must bear his indifference, if
his rich friends should inspire him with it, and proceed
with doing my duty with cheerfulness.
Half an hour past eight o'clock.
My good dear master, my kind friend, my generous
benefactor, my worthy protector, and, oh! all the good words
in one, my affectionate husband, that is soon to be—(be
curbed in, my proud heart, know thy self, and be conscious
of thy unworthiness!)—has just left me, with the kindest,
tenderest expressions, and gentlest behaviour, that ever
blest a happy maiden. He approached me with a sort of
reined-in rapture. My Pamela! said he, May I just ask after
your employment? Don't let me chide my dear girl this day,
however. The two parsons will be here to breakfast with us
at nine; and yet you are not a bit dressed! Why this absence
of mind, and sweet irresolution?
Why, indeed, sir, said I, I will set about a reformation
this instant. He saw the common-prayer book lying in the
window. I hope, said he, my lovely maiden has been conning
the lesson she is by-and-by to repeat. Have you not, Pamela?
and clasped his arms about me, and kissed me. Indeed, sir,
said I, I have been reading over the solemn service.—And
what thinks my fairest (for so he called me) of it?—O sir,
'tis very awful, and makes one shudder, to reflect upon
it!—No wonder, said he, it should affect my sweet Pamela: I
have been looking into it this morning, and I can't say but
I think it a solemn, but very suitable service. But this I
tell my dear love, continued he, and again clasped me to
him, there is not a tittle in it that I cannot joyfully
subscribe to: And that, my dear Pamela, should make you
easy, and join cheerfully in it with me. I kissed his dear
hand: O my generous, kind protector, said I, how gracious is
it to confirm thus the doubting mind of your poor servant!
which apprehends nothing so much as her own unworthiness of
the honour and blessing that await her!—He was pleased to
say, I know well, my dearest creature, that, according to
the liberties we people of fortune generally give ourselves,
I have promised a great deal, when I say so. But I would not
have said it, if, deliberately, I could not with all my
heart. So banish from your mind all doubt and uneasiness;
let a generous confidence in me take place; and let me see
it does, by your cheerfulness in this day's solemn business;
and then I will love you for ever!
May God Almighty, sir, said I, reward all your goodness
to me!—That is all I can say. But, oh! how kind it is in
you, to supply the want of the presence and comfortings of a
dear mother, of a loving sister, or of the kind companions
of my own sex, which most maidens have, to soothe their
anxieties on the so near approach of so awful a
solemnity!—You, sir, are all these tender relations in one
to me! Your condescensions and kindness shall, if possible,
embolden me to look up to you without that sweet terror,
that must confound poor bashful maidens, on such an
occasion, when they are surrendered up to a more doubtful
happiness, and to half-strange men, whose good faith, and
good usage of them, must be less experienced, and is all
involved in the dark bosom of futurity, and only to be
proved by the event.
This, my dear Pamela, said he, is most kindly said! It
shews me that you enter gratefully into my intention. For I
would, by my conduct, supply all these dear relations to
you; and I voluntarily promise, from my heart, to you, what
I think I could not, with such assured resolutions of
performance, to the highest-born lady in the kingdom. For
let me tell my sweet girl, that, after having been long
tossed by the boisterous winds of a more culpable passion, I
have now conquered it, and am not so much the victim of your
beauty, all charming as you are, as of your virtue; and
therefore may more boldly promise for myself, having so
stable a foundation for my affection; which, should this
outward beauty fail, will increase with your virtue, and
shine forth the brighter, as that is more illustriously
displayed by the augmented opportunities which the condition
you are now entering into will afford you.—O the dear
charming man! how nobly, how encouragingly kind, was all
this!
I could not suitably express myself: And he said, I see
my girl is at a loss for words! I doubt not your kind
acceptance of my declarations. And when I have acted too
much the part of a libertine formerly, for you to look back
without some anxiety, I ought not, being now happily
convicted, to say less.—But why loses my girl her time? I
will now only add, that I hope for many happy years to make
good, by my conduct, what so willingly flows from my lips.
He kissed me again, and said, But, whatever you do,
Pamela, be cheerful; for else, may be, of the small company
we shall have, some one, not knowing how to account for your
too nice modesty, will think there is some other person in
the world, whose addresses would be still more agreeable to
you.
This he said with an air of sweetness and pleasantry; but
it alarmed me exceedingly, and made me resolve to appear as
calm and cheerful as possible. For this was, indeed, a most
affecting expression, and enough to make me, if any thing
can, behave as I ought, and to force my idle fears to give
way to hopes so much better grounded.—And I began almost, on
this occasion, to wish Mr. Williams were not to marry me,
lest I should behave like a fool; and so be liable to an
imputation, which I should be most unworthy, if I deserved.
So I set about dressing me instantly; and he sent Mrs.
Jewkes to assist me. But I am never long a dressing, when I
set about it; and my master has now given me a hint, that
will, for half an hour more, at least, keep my spirits in a
brisk circulation. Yet it concerns me a little too, lest he
should have any the least shadow of a doubt, that I am not,
mind and person, entirely his.
And so being now ready, and not called to breakfast, I
sat down and wrote thus far.
I might have mentioned, that I dressed myself in a rich
white satin night-gown, that had been my good lady's, and my
best head-clothes, etc. I have got such a knack of writing,
that when I am by myself, I cannot sit without a pen in my
hand.—But I am now called to breakfast. I suppose the
gentlemen are come.—Now, courage, Pamela! Remember thou art
upon thy good behaviour!—Fie upon it! my heart begins to
flutter again!—Foolish heart! be still! Never, sure, was any
maiden's perverse heart under so little command as mine!—It
gave itself away, at first, without my leave; it has been,
for weeks, pressing me with its wishes; and yet now, when it
should be happy itself, and make me so, it is throb, throb,
throb, like a little fool! and filling me with such
unseasonable misgivings, as abate the rising comforts of all
my better prospects.
Thursday, near three o'clock.
I thought I should have found no time nor heart to write
again this day. But here are three gentlemen come,
unexpectedly, to dine with my master; and so I shall not
appear. He has done all he could, civilly, to send them
away; but they will stay, though I believe he had rather
they would not. And so I have nothing to do but to write
till I go to dinner myself with Mrs. Jewkes: for my master
was not prepared for this company; and it will be a little
latish to-day. So I will begin with my happy story where I
left off.
When I came down to breakfast, Mr. Peters and Mr.
Williams were both there. And as soon as my master heard me
coming down, he met me at the door, and led me in with great
tenderness. He had kindly spoken to them, as he told me
afterwards, to mention no more of the matter to me, than
needs must. I paid my respects to them, I believe a little
awkwardly, and was almost out of breath: but said, I had
come down a little too fast.
When Abraham came in to wait, my master said, (that the
servants should not mistrust,) 'Tis well, gentlemen, you
came as you did; for my good girl and I were going to take
an airing till dinner-time. I hope you'll stay and dine with
me. Sir, said Mr. Peters, we won't hinder your airing. I
only came, having a little time upon my hands, to see your
chapel; but must be at home at dinner; and Mr. Williams will
dine with me. Well then, said my master, we will pursue our
intention, and ride out for an hour or two, as soon as I
have shewn Mr. Peters my little chapel. Will you, Pamela,
after breakfast, walk with us to it? If, if, said I, and had
like to have stammered, foolish that I was! if you please,
sir. I could look none of them in the face. Abraham looking
at me; Why, child, said my master, you have hardly recovered
your fright yet: how came your foot to slip? 'Tis well you
did not hurt yourself. Said Mr. Peters, improving the hint,
You ha'n't sprained your ancle, madam, I hope. No, sir, said
I, I believe not; but 'tis a little painful to me. And so it
was; for I meant my foolishness! Abraham, said my master,
bid Robin put the horses to the coach, instead of the
chariot; and if these gentlemen will go, we can set them
down. No matter, sir, said Mr. Peters: I had as lieve walk,
if Mr. Williams chooses it. Well then, said my master, let
it be the chariot, as I told him.
I could eat nothing, though I attempted it; and my hand
shook so, I spilled some of my chocolate, and so put it down
again; and they were all very good, and looked another way.
My master said, when Abraham was out, I have a quite plain
ring here, Mr. Peters: And I hope the ceremony will dignify
the ring; and that I shall give my girl reason to think it,
for that cause, the most valuable one that can be presented
her. Mr. Peters said, He was sure I should value it more
than the richest diamond in the world.
I had bid Mrs. Jewkes not to dress herself, lest she
should give cause of mistrust; and she took my advice.
When breakfast was over, my master said, before Abraham,
Well, gentlemen, we will step into the chapel; and you must
give me your advice, as to the alterations I design. I am in
the more haste, because the survey you are going to take of
it, for the alterations, will take up a little time; and we
shall have but a small space between that and dinner, for
the little tour I design to make.—Pamela, you'll give us
your opinion, won't you? Yes, sir, said I; I'll come after
you.
So they went out, and I sat down in the chair again, and
fanned myself: I am sick at heart, said I, I think, Mrs.
Jewkes. Said she, Shall I fetch you a little cordial?—No,
said I, I am a sad fool! I want spirits, that's all. She
took her smelling-bottle, and would have given it me: but I
said, Keep it in your hand; may be I shall want it: but I
hope not.
She gave me very good words, and begged me to go: And I
got up; but my knees beat so against one another, I was
forced to sit down again. But, at last, I held by her arm,
and passing by Abraham, I said, This ugly slip, coming down
stairs, has made me limp, though; so I must hold by you,
Mrs. Jewkes. Do you know what alterations there are to be in
the chapel, that we must all give our opinions of them?
Nan, she told me, was let into the secret; and she had
ordered her to stay at the chapel door, to see that nobody
came in. My dear master came to me, at entering the chapel,
and took my hand, and led me up to the altar. Remember, my
dear girl, whispered he, and be cheerful. I am, I will, sir,
said I; but I hardly knew what I said; and so you may
believe, when I said to Mrs. Jewkes, Don't leave me; pray,
Mrs. Jewkes, don't leave me; as if I had all confidence in
her, and none where it was most due. So she kept close to
me. God forgive me! but I never was so absent in my life, as
at first; even till Mr. Williams had gone on in the service,
so far as to the awful words about requiring us, as we
should answer at the dreadful day of judgment; and then the
solemn words, and my master's whispering, Mind this, my
dear, made me start. Said he, still whispering, Know you any
impediment? I blushed, and said softly, None, sir, but my
great unworthiness.
Then followed the sweet words, Wilt thou have this woman
to thy wedded wife? etc. and I began to take heart a little,
when my dearest master answered, audibly, to this question,
I will. But I could only make a courtesy, when they asked
me; though, I am sure, my heart was readier than my speech,
and answered to every article of obey, serve, love, and
honour.
Mr. Peters gave me away; and I said, after Mr. Williams,
as well as I could, as my dear master did with a much better
grace, the words of betrothment; and the ceremony of the
ring passing next, I received the dear favour at his worthy
hands with a most grateful heart; and he was pleased to say
afterwards in the chariot, that when he had done saying,
With this ring I thee wed, etc. I made a courtesy, and said,
Thank you, sir. May be I did; for I am sure it was a most
grateful part of the service, and my heart was overwhelmed
with his goodness, and the tender grace wherewith he
performed it. I was very glad, that the next part was the
prayer, and kneeling; for I trembled so, I could hardly
stand, betwixt fear and joy.
The joining of our hands afterwards, the declaration of
our being married to the few witnesses present; for,
reckoning Nan, whose curiosity would not let her stay at the
door, there were but Mr. Peters, Mrs. Jewkes, and she; the
blessing, the psalm, and the subsequent prayers, and the
concluding exhortation; were so many beautiful, welcome, and
lovely parts of this divine office, that my heart began to
be delighted with them; and my spirits to be a little freer.
And thus, my dearest, dear parents, is your happy, happy,
thrice happy Pamela, at last married; and to whom?—Why, to
her beloved, gracious master! the lord of her wishes! And
thus the dear, once naughty assailer of her innocence, by a
blessed turn of Providence, is become the kind, the generous
protector and rewarder of it. God be evermore blessed and
praised! and make me not wholly unworthy of such a
transcendent honour!—And bless and reward the dear, dear,
good gentleman, who has thus exalted his unworthy servant,
and given her a place, which the greatest ladies would think
themselves happy in!
My master saluted me most ardently, and said, God give
you, my dear love, as much joy on this occasion, as I have!
And he presented me to Mr. Peters, who saluted me; and said,
You may excuse me, dear madam, for I gave you away, and you
are my daughter. And Mr. Williams modestly withdrawing a
little way; Mr. Williams, said my master, pray accept my
thanks, and wish your sister joy. So he saluted me too; and
said, Most heartily, madam, I do. And I will say, that to
see so much innocence and virtue so eminently rewarded, is
one of the greatest pleasures I have ever known. This my
master took very kindly.
Mrs. Jewkes would have kissed my hand at the chapel-door;
but I put my arms about her neck, for I had got a new
recruit of spirits just then; and kissed her, and said,
Thank you, Mrs. Jewkes, for accompanying me. I have behaved
sadly. No, madam, said she, pretty well, pretty well!
Mr. Peters walked out with me; and Mr. Williams and my
master came out after us, talking together.
Mr. Peters, when we came into the parlour, said, I once
more, madam, must wish you joy on this happy occasion. I
wish every day may add to your comforts; and may you very
long rejoice in one another! for you are the loveliest
couple I ever saw joined. I told him, I was highly obliged
to his kind opinion, and good wishes; and hoped my future
conduct would not make me unworthy of them.
My good benefactor came in with Mr. Williams: So, my dear
life, said he, how do you do? A little more composed, I
hope. Well, you see this is not so dreadful an affair as you
apprehended.
Sir, said Mr. Peters, very kindly, it is a very solemn
circumstance; and I love to see it so reverently and awfully
entered upon. It is a most excellent sign; for the most
thoughtful beginnings make the most prudent proceedings.
Mrs. Jewkes, of her own accord, came in with a large
silver tumbler, filled with sack, and a toast, and nutmeg,
and sugar; and my master said, That's well thought of, Mrs.
Jewkes; for we have made but sorry breakfasting. And he
would make me, take some of the toast; as they all did, and
drank pretty heartily: and I drank a little, and it cheered
my heart, I thought, for an hour after.
My master took a fine diamond ring from his finger, and
presented it to Mr. Peters, who received it very kindly. And
to Mr. Williams he said, My old acquaintance, I have
reserved for you, against a variety of solicitations, the
living I always designed for you; and I beg you'll prepare
to take possession of it; and as the doing it may be
attended with some expense, pray accept of this towards it;
and so he gave him (as he told me afterwards it was) a bank
note of 50l.
So did this generous good gentleman bless us all, and me
in particular; for whose sake he was as bounteous as if he
had married one of the noblest fortunes.
So he took his leave of the gentlemen, recommending
secrecy again, for a few days, and they left him; and none
of the servants suspected any thing, as Mrs. Jewkes
believes. And then I threw myself at his feet, blessed God,
and blessed him for his goodness; and he overwhelmed me with
kindness, calling me his sweet bride, and twenty lovely
epithets, that swell my grateful heart beyond the power of
utterance.
He afterwards led me to the chariot; and we took a
delightful tour round the neighbouring villages; and he did
all he could to dissipate those still perverse anxieties
that dwell upon my mind, and, do what I can, spread too
thoughtful an air, as he tells me, over my countenance.
We came home again by half an hour after one; and he was
pleasing himself with thinking, not to be an hour out of my
company this blessed day, that (as he was so good as to say)
he might inspire me with a familiarity that should improve
my confidence in him, when he was told, that a footman of
Sir Charles Hargrave had been here, to let him know, that
his master, and two other gentlemen, were on the road to
take a dinner with him, in their way to Nottingham.
He was heartily vexed at this, and said to me, He should
have been glad of their companies at any other time; but
that it was a barbarous intrusion now; and he wished they
had been told he would not be at home at dinner: And
besides, said he, they are horrid drinkers; and I shan't be
able to get them away to-night, perhaps; for they have
nothing to do, but to travel round the country, and beat up
their friends' quarters all the way; and it is all one to
them, whether they stay a night or a month at a place. But,
added he, I'll find some way, if I can, to turn them off,
after dinner.—Confound them, said he, in a violent pet, that
they should come this day, of all the days in the year!
We had hardly alighted, and got in, before they came:
Three mad rakes they seemed to be, as I looked through the
window, setting up a hunting note, as soon as they came to
the gate, that made the court-yard echo again; and smacking
their whips in concert.
So I went up to my chamber, and saw (what made my heart
throb) Mrs. Jewkes's officious pains to put the room in
order for a guest, that, however welcome, as now my duty
teaches me to say, is yet dreadful to me to think of. So I
took refuge in my closet, and had recourse to pen and ink,
for my amusement, and to divert my anxiety of mind.—If one's
heart is so sad, and one's apprehension so great, where one
so extremely loves, and is so extremely obliged; what must
be the case of those poor maidens, who are forced, for
sordid views, by their tyrannical parents or guardians, to
marry the man they almost hate, and, perhaps, to the loss of
the man they most love! O that is a sad thing, indeed!—And
what have not such cruel parents to answer for! And what do
not such poor innocent victims suffer!—But, blessed be God,
this lot is far from being mine!
My good master (for I cannot yet have the presumption to
call him by a more tender name) came up to me, and said,
Well, I just come to ask my dear bride (O the charming,
charming word!) how she does? I see you are writing, my
dear, said he. These confounded rakes are half mad, I think,
and will make me so! However, said he, I have ordered my
chariot to be got ready, as if I was under an engagement
five miles off, and will set them out of the house, if
possible; and then ride round, and come back, as soon as I
can get rid of them. I find, said he, Lady Davers is full of
our affairs. She has taken great freedoms with me before Sir
Charles; and they have all been at me, without mercy; and I
was forced to be very serious with them, or else they would
have come up to have seen you, since I would not call you
down.—He kissed me, and said, I shall quarrel with them, if
I can't get them away; for I have lost two or three precious
hours with my soul's delight: And so he went down.
Mrs. Jewkes asked me to walk down to dinner in the little
parlour. I went down, and she was so complaisant as to offer
to wait upon me at table; and would not be persuaded,
without difficulty, to sit down with me. But I insisted she
should: For, said I, it would be very extraordinary, if one
should so soon go into such distance, Mrs. Jewkes.—Whatever
my new station may require of me, added I, I hope I shall
always conduct myself in such a manner, that pride and
insolence shall bear no part in my character.
You are very good, madam, said she; but I will always
know my duty to my master's lady.—Why then, replied I, if I
must take state upon me so early, Mrs. Jewkes, let me exact
from you what you call your duty; and sit down with me when
I desire you.
This prevailed upon her; and I made shift to get down a
bit of apple-pye, and a little custard; but that was all.
My good master came in again, and said, Well, thank my
stars! these rakes are going now; but I must set out with
them, and I choose my chariot; for if I took horse, I should
have difficulty to part with them; for they are like a
snowball, and intend to gather company as they go, to make a
merry tour of it for some days together.
We both got up, when he came in: Fie, Pamela! said he;
why this ceremony now?—Sit still, Mrs. Jewkes.—Nay, sir,
said she, I was loath to sit down; but my lady would have
me.—She is very right, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master, and
tapped me on the cheek; for we are but yet half married; and
so she is not above half your lady yet!—Don't look so down,
don't be so silent, my dearest, said he; why, you hardly
spoke twenty words to me all the time we were out together.
Something I will allow for your bashful sweetness; but not
too much.—Mrs. Jewkes, have you no pleasant tales to tell my
Pamela, to make her smile, till I return?—Yes, sir, said
she, I could tell twenty pleasant stories; but my lady is
too nice to hear them; and yet, I hope, I should not be
shocking neither. Ah! poor woman! thought I; thy chastest
stories will make a modest person blush, if I know thee! and
I desire to hear none of them.
My master said, Tell her one of the shortest you have, in
my hearing. Why, sir, said she, I knew a bashful young lady,
as madam may be, married to—Dear Mrs. Jewkes, interrupted I,
no more of your story, I beseech you; I don't like the
beginning of it. Go on, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master. No,
pray, sir, don't require it, said I, pray don't. Well, said
he, then we'll have it another time, Mrs. Jewkes.
Abraham coming in to tell him the gentlemen were going,
and that his chariot was ready; I am glad of that, said he;
and went to them, and set out with them.
I took a turn in the garden with Mrs. Jewkes, after they
were gone: And having walked a while, I said, I should be
glad of her company down the elm-walk, to meet the chariot:
For, O! I know not how to look up at him, when he is with
me; nor how to bear his absence, when I have reason to
expect him: What a strange contradiction there is in this
unaccountable passion.
What a different aspect every thing in and about this
house bears now, to my thinking, to what it once had! The
garden, the pond, the alcove, the elm-walk. But, oh! my
prison is become my palace; and no wonder every thing wears
another face!
We sat down upon the broad stile, leading towards the
road; and Mrs. Jewkes was quite another person to me, to
what she was the last time I sat there.
At last my best beloved returned, and alighted there.
What, my Pamela! (and Mrs. Jewkes then left me,) What (said
he, and kissed me) brings you this way? I hope to meet
me.—Yes, sir, said I. That's kind, indeed, said he; but why
that averted eye?—that downcast countenance, as if you was
afraid of me? You must not think so, sir, said I. Revive my
heart then, said he, with a more cheerful aspect; and let
that over-anxious solicitude, which appears in the most
charming face in the world, be chased from it.—Have you, my
dear girl any fears that I can dissipate; any doubts that I
can obviate; any hopes that I can encourage; any request
that I can gratify?—Speak, my dear Pamela; and if I have
power, but speak, and to purchase one smile, it shall be
done!
I cannot, sir, said I, have any fears, any doubts, but
that I shall never be able to deserve all your goodness. I
have no hopes, but that my future conduct may be agreeable
to you, and my determined duty well accepted. Nor have I any
request to make, but that you will forgive all my
imperfections and, among the rest, this foolish weakness,
that makes me seem to you, after all the generous things
that have passed, to want this further condescension, and
these kind assurances. But indeed, sir, I am oppressed by
your bounty; my spirits sink under the weight of it; and the
oppression is still the greater, as I see not how, possibly,
in my whole future life, by all I can do, to merit the least
of your favours.
I know your grateful heart, said he; but remember, my
dear, what the lawyers tell us, That marriage is the highest
consideration which the law knows. And this, my sweet bride,
has made you mine, and me yours; and you have the best claim
in the world to share my fortune with me. But, set that
consideration aside, what is the obligation you have to me?
Your mind is pure as that of an angel, and as much
transcends mine. Your wit, and your judgment, to make you no
compliment, are more than equal to mine: You have all the
graces that education can give a woman, improved by a genius
which makes those graces natural to you. You have a
sweetness of temper, and a noble sincerity, beyond all
comparison; and in the beauty of your person, you excel all
the ladies I ever saw. Where then, my dearest, is the
obligation, if not on my side to you?—But, to avoid these
comparisons, let us talk of nothing henceforth but equality;
although, if the riches of your mind, and your unblemished
virtue, be set against my fortune, (which is but an
accidental good, as I may call it, and all I have to boast
of,) the condescension will be yours; and I shall not think
I can possibly deserve you, till, after your sweet example,
my future life shall become nearly as blameless as yours.
O, sir, said I, what comfort do you give me, that,
instead of my being in danger of being ensnared by the high
condition to which your goodness has exalted me, you make me
hope, that I shall be confirmed and approved by you; and
that we may have a prospect of perpetuating each other's
happiness, till time shall be no more!—But, sir, I will not,
as you once cautioned me, be too serious. I will resolve,
with these sweet encouragements, to be, in every thing, what
you would have me be: And I hope I shall, more and more,
shew you that I have no will but yours. He kissed me very
tenderly, and thanked me for this kind assurance, as he
called it.
And so we entered the house together.
Eight o'clock at night.
Now these sweet assurances, my dear father and mother,
you will say, must be very consolatory to me; and being
voluntary on his side, were all that could be wished for on
mine; and I was resolved, if possible, to subdue my idle
fears and apprehensions.
Ten o'clock at night.
As we sat at supper, he was generously kind to me, as
well in his actions, as expressions. He took notice, in the
most delicate manner, of my endeavour to conquer my foibles;
and said, I see, with pleasure, my dear girl strives to
comport herself in a manner suitable to my wishes: I see,
even through the sweet tender struggles of your over-nice
modesty, how much I owe to your intentions of obliging me.
As I have once told you, that I am the conquest more of your
virtue than your beauty; so not one alarming word or look
shall my beloved Pamela hear or see, to give her reason to
suspect the truth of what I aver. You may the rather believe
me, continued he, as you may see the pain I have to behold
any thing that concerns you, even though your concern be
causeless. And yet I will indulge my dear girl's bashful
weakness so far, as to own, that so pure a mind may suffer
from apprehension, on so important a change as this; and I
can therefore be only displeased with such part of your
conduct, as may make your sufferings greater than my own;
when I am resolved, through every stage of my future life,
in all events, to study to make them less.
After supper, of which, with all his sweet persuasions, I
could hardly taste, he made me drink two glasses of
champaign, and, afterwards, a glass of sack; which he kindly
forced upon me, by naming your healths: and as the time of
retiring drew on, he took notice, but in a very delicate
manner, how my colour went and came, and how foolishly I
trembled. Nobody, surely, in such delightful circumstances,
ever behaved so silly!—And he said, My dearest girl, I fear
you have had too much of my company for so many hours
together; and would better recollect yourself, if you
retired for half an hour to your closet.
I wished for this, but durst not say so much, lest he
should be angry; for, as the hours grew on, I found my
apprehensions increase, and my silly heart was the
unquieter, every time I could lift up my eyes to his dear
face; so sweetly terrible did he appear to my apprehensions.
I said, You are all goodness, dear sir; and I boldly kissed
his dear hand, and pressed it to my lips with both mine. And
saluting me very fervently, he gave me his hand, seeing me
hardly able to stand, and led me to my chamber-door, and
then most generously withdrew.
I went to my closet; and the first thing I did, on my
knees, again thanked God for the blessing of the day; and
besought his divine goodness to conduct my future life in
such a manner, as should make me a happy instrument of his
glory. After this, being now left to my own recollection, I
grew a little more assured and lightsome; and the pen and
paper being before me, I amused myself with writing thus
far.
Eleven o'clock Thursday night.
Mrs. Jewkes being come up with a message, desiring to
know, whether her master may attend upon me in my closet;
and hinting to me, that, however, she believed he did not
expect to find me there; I have sent word, that I beg he
would indulge me one quarter of an hour.—So, committing
myself to the mercies of the Almighty, who has led me
through so many strange scenes of terror and affrightment,
to this happy, yet awful moment, I will wish you, my dear
parents, a good night; and though you will not see this in
time, yet I know I have your hourly prayers, and therefore
cannot fail of them now. So, good night, good night! God
bless you, and God bless me! Amen, amen, if it be his
blessed will, subscribes
Your ever-dutiful DAUGHTER!
Friday evening.
O how this dear excellent man indulges me in every thing!
Every hour he makes me happier, by his sweet condescension,
than the former. He pities my weakness of mind, allows for
all my little foibles, endeavours to dissipate my fears; his
words are so pure, his ideas so chaste, and his whole
behaviour so sweetly decent, that never, surely, was so
happy a creature as your Pamela! I never could have hoped
such a husband could have fallen to my lot: and much less,
that a gentleman, who had allowed himself in attempts, that
now I will endeavour to forget for ever, should have behaved
with so very delicate and unexceptionable a demeanour. No
light frothy jests drop from his lips; no alarming
railleries; no offensive expressions, nor insulting airs,
reproach or wound the ears of your happy, thrice happy
daughter. In short, he says every thing that may embolden me
to look up, with pleasure, upon the generous author of my
happiness.
At breakfast, when I knew not how to see him, he
emboldened me by talking of you, my dear parents; a subject,
he generously knew, I could talk of: and gave me assurances,
that he would make you both happy. He said, He would have me
send you a letter to acquaint you with my nuptials; and, as
he could make business that way, Thomas should carry it
purposely, as to-morrow. Nor will I, said he, my dear
Pamela, desire to see your writings, because I told you I
would not; for now I will, in every thing, religiously keep
my word with my dear spouse: (O the dear delightful word!)
and you may send all your papers to them, from those they
have, down to this happy moment; only let me beg they will
preserve them, and let me have them when they have read
them; as also those I have not seen; which, however, I
desire not to see till then; but then shall take it for a
favour, if you will grant it.
It will be my pleasure, as well as my duty, sir, said I,
to obey you in every thing: and I will write up to the
conclusion of this day, that they may see how happy you have
made me.
I know you will both join with me to bless God for his
wonderful mercies and goodness to you, as well as to me: For
he was pleased to ask me particularly after your
circumstances, and said, He had taken notice, that I had
hinted, in some of my first letters, that you owed money in
the world; and he gave me fifty guineas, and bid me send
them to you in my packet, to pay your debts, as far as they
would go; and that you would quit your present business, and
put yourself, and my dear mother, into a creditable
appearance; and he would find a better place of abode for
you than that you had, when he returned to Bedfordshire. O
how shall I bear all these exceeding great and generous
favours!—I send them wrapt up, five guineas in a parcel, in
double papers.
To me he gave no less than one hundred guineas more; and
said, I would have you, my dear, give Mrs. Jewkes, when you
go away from hence, what you think fit out of these, as from
yourself.—Nay, good dear sir, said I, let that be what you
please. Give her, then, said he, twenty guineas, as a
compliment on your nuptials. Give Colbrand ten guineas give:
the two coachmen five guineas each; to the two maids at this
house five guineas each; give Abraham five guineas; give
Thomas five guineas; and give the gardeners, grooms, and
helpers, twenty guineas among them. And when, said he, I
return with you to the other house, I will make you a
suitable present, to buy you such ornaments as are fit for
my beloved wife to appear in. For now, my Pamela, continued
he, you are not to mind, as you once proposed, what other
ladies will say; but to appear as my wife ought to do. Else
it would look as if what you thought of, as a means to avoid
the envy of others of your sex, was a wilful slight in me,
which, I hope, I never shall be guilty of; and I will shew
the world, that I value you as I ought, and as if I had
married the first fortune in the kingdom: And why should it
not be so, when I know none of the first quality that
matches you in excellence?
He saw I was at a loss for words, and said, I see, my
dearest bride! my spouse! my wife! my Pamela! your grateful
confusion. And kissing me, as I was going to speak, I will
stop your dear mouth, said he: You shall not so much as
thank me; for when I have done ten times more than this, I
shall but poorly express my love for so much beauty of mind,
and loveliness of person; which thus, said he, and clasped
me to his generous bosom, I can proudly now call my own!—O
how, my dear parents, can I think of any thing, but
redoubled love, joy, and gratitude!
And thus generously did he banish from my mind those
painful reflections, and bashful apprehensions, that made me
dread to see him for the first time this day, when I was
called to attend him at breakfast; and made me all ease,
composure, and tranquillity.
He then, thinking I seemed somewhat thoughtful, proposed
a little turn in the chariot till dinner-time: And this was
another sweet relief to me; and he diverted me with twenty
agreeable relations, of what observations he had made in his
travels; and gave me the characters of the ladies and
gentlemen in his other neighbourhood; telling me whose
acquaintance he would have me most cultivate. And when I
mentioned Lady Davers with apprehension, he said, To be sure
I love my sister dearly, notwithstanding her violent spirit;
and I know she loves me; and I can allow a little for her
pride, because I know what my own so lately was; and because
she knows not my Pamela, and her excellencies, as I do. But
you must not, my dear, forget what belongs to your
character, as my wife, nor meanly stoop to her; though I
know you will choose, by softness, to try to move her to a
proper behaviour. But it shall be my part to see, that you
do not yield too much.
However, continued he, as I would not publicly declare my
marriage here, I hope she won't come near us till we are in
Bedfordshire; and then, when she knows we are married, she
will keep away, if she is not willing to be reconciled; for
she dares not, surely, come to quarrel with me, when she
knows it is done; for that would have a hateful and wicked
appearance, as if she would try to make differences between
man and wife.—But we will have no more of this subject, nor
talk of any thing, added he, that shall give concern to my
dearest. And so he changed the talk to a more pleasing
subject, and said the kindest and most soothing things in
the world.
When we came home, which was about dinner-time, he was
the same obliging, kind gentleman; and, in short, is
studious to shew, on every occasion, his generous affection
to me. And, after dinner, he told me, he had already written
to his draper, in town, to provide him new liveries; and to
his late mother's mercer, to send him down patterns of the
most fashionable silks, for my choice. I told him, I was
unable to express my gratitude for his favours and
generosity: And as he knew best what befitted his own rank
and condition, I would wholly remit myself to his good
pleasure. But, by all his repeated bounties to me, of so
extraordinary a nature, I could not but look forward with
awe upon the condition to which he had exalted me; and now I
feared I should hardly be able to act up to it in such a
manner as should justify the choice he had condescended to
make: But that, I hoped, I should have not only his generous
allowance for my imperfections, which I could only assure
him should not be wilful ones, but his kind instructions;
and that as often as he observed any part of my conduct such
as he could not entirely approve, he would let me know it;
and I would think his reproofs of beginning faults the
kindest and most affectionate things in the world because
they would keep me from committing greater; and be a means
to continue to me the blessing of his good opinion.
He answered me in the kindest manner; and assured me,
That nothing should ever lie upon his mind which he would
not reveal, and give me an opportunity either of convincing
him, or being convinced myself.
He then asked me, When I should be willing to go to the
Bedfordshire house? I said, whenever he pleased. We will
come down hither again before the winter, said he, if you
please, in order to cultivate the acquaintance you have
begun with Lady Jones, and Sir Simon's family; and, if it
please God to spare us to one another, in the winter I will
give you, as I promised for two or three months, the
diversions of London. And I think, added he, if my dear
pleases, we will set out next week, about Tuesday, for
t'other house. I can have no objection, sir, said I, to any
thing you propose; but how will you avoid Miss Darnford's
solicitation for an evening to dance? Why, said he, we can
make Monday evening do for that purpose, if they won't
excuse us. But, if you please, said he, I will invite Lady
Jones, Mr. Peters and his family, and Sir Simon and his
family, to my little chapel, on Sunday morning, and to stay
dinner with me; and then I will declare my marriage to them,
because my dear life shall not leave this country with the
least reason for a possibility of any body's doubting that
it is so. O! how good was this! But, indeed, his conduct is
all of a piece, noble, kind, and considerate! What a happy
creature am I!—And then, may be, said he, they will excuse
us till we return into this country again, as to the ball.
Is there any thing, added he, that my beloved Pamela has
still to wish? If you have, freely speak.
Hitherto, my dearest sir, replied I, you have not only
prevented my wishes, but my hopes, and even my thoughts. And
yet I must own, since your kind command of speaking my mind
seems to shew, that you expect from me I should say
something; that I have only one or two things to wish more,
and then I shall be too happy. Say, said he, what they are.
Sir, proceeded I, I am, indeed, ashamed to ask any thing,
lest it should not be agreeable to you; and lest it should
look as if I was taking advantage of your kind
condescensions to me, and knew not when to be satisfied!
I will only tell you, Pamela, said he, that you are not
to imagine, that these things, which I have done, in hopes
of obliging you, are the sudden impulses of a new passion
for you. But, if I can answer for my own mind, they proceed
from a regular and uniform desire of obliging you: which, I
hope, will last as long as your merit lasts; and that, I
make no doubt, will be as long as I live. And I can the
rather answer for this, because I really find so much
delight in myself in my present way of thinking and acting,
as infinitely overpays me; and which, for that reason, I am
likely to continue, for both our sakes. My beloved wife,
therefore, said he, for methinks I am grown fond of a name I
once despised, may venture to speak her mind; and I will
promise, that, so far as it is agreeable to me, and I
cheerfully can, I will comply; and you will not insist upon
it, if that should not be the case.
To be sure, sir, said I, I ought not, neither will I. And
now you embolden me to become an humble petitioner, and
that, as I ought, upon my knees, for the reinstating such of
your servants, as I have been the unhappy occasion of their
disobliging you. He raised me up, and said, My beloved
Pamela has too often been in this suppliant posture to me,
to permit it any more. Rise, my fairest, and let me know
whom, in particular, you would reinstate; and he kindly held
me in his arms, and pressed me to his beloved bosom. Mrs.
Jervis, sir, said I, in the first place; for she is a good
woman; and the misfortunes she has had in the world, must
make your displeasure most heavy to her.
Well, said he, who next? Mr. Longman, sir, said I; and I
am sure, kind as they have been to me, yet would I not ask
it, if I could not vouch for their integrity, and if I did
not think it was my dear master's interest to have such good
servants.
Have you any thing further? said he.—Sir, said I, your
good old butler, who has so long been in your family before
the day of your happy birth, I would, if I might, become an
advocate for!
Well, said he, I have only to say, That had not Mr.
Longman and Mrs. Jervis, and Jonathan too, joined in a body,
in a bold appeal to Lady Davers, which has given her the
insolent handle she has taken to intermeddle in my affairs,
I could easily have forgiven all the rest of their conduct;
though they have given their tongues no little license about
me: But I could have forgiven them, because I desire every
body should admire you; and it is with pride that I observe
not only their opinion and love, but that of every body else
that knows you, justify my own.—But yet, I will forgive even
this, because my Pamela desires it; and I will send a letter
myself, to tell Longman what he owes to your interposition,
if the estate he has made in my family does not set him
above the acceptance of it. And, as to Mrs. Jervis, do you,
my dear, write a letter to her, and give her your commands,
instantly, on, the receipt of it, to go and take possession
of her former charge; for now, my dearest girl, she will be
more immediately your servant; and I know you love her so
well, that you'll go thither with the more pleasure to find
her there.—But don't think, added he, that all this
compliance is to be for nothing. Ah, sir! said I, tell me
but what I can do, poor as I am in power, but rich in will;
and I will not hesitate one moment. Why then, said he, of
your own accord, reward me for my cheerful compliance, with
one sweet kiss—I instantly said, Thus, then, dear sir, will
I obey; and, oh! you have the sweetest and most generous way
in the world, to make that a condition, which gives me
double honour, and adds to my obligations. And so I clasped
my arms about his neck, and was not ashamed to kiss him once
and twice, and three times; once for every forgiven person.
Now, my dearest Pamela, said he, what other things have
you to ask? Mr. Williams is already taken care of; and, I
hope, will be happy.—Have you nothing to say for John
Arnold?
Why, dear sir, said I, you have seen the poor fellow's
penitence in my letters.—Yes, my dear, so I have; but that
is his penitence for his having served me against you; and,
I think, when he would have betrayed me afterwards, he
deserves nothing to be said or done for him by either.
But, dear sir, said I, this is a day of jubilee; and the
less he deserves, poor fellow, the more will be your
goodness. And let me add one word; That as he was divided in
his inclinations between his duty to you and good wishes to
me, and knew not how to distinguish between the one and the
other, when he finds us so happily united by your great
goodness to me, he will have no more puzzles in his duty;
for he has not failed in any other part of it; but, I hope,
will serve you faithfully for the future.
Well, then, suppose I put Mrs. Jewkes in a good way of
business, in some inn, and give her John for a husband? And
then your gipsy story will be made out, that she will have a
husband younger than herself.
You are all goodness, sir, said I. I can freely forgive
poor Mrs. Jewkes, and wish her happy. But permit me, sir, to
ask, Would not this look like a very heavy punishment to
poor John? and as if you could not forgive him, when you are
so generous to every body else?
He smiled and said, O my Pamela, this, for a forgiving
spirit, is very severe upon poor Jewkes: But I shall never,
by the grace of God, have any more such trying services, to
put him or the rest upon; and if you can forgive him, I
think I may: and so John shall be at your disposal. And now
let me know what my Pamela has further to wish?
O, my dearest sir, said I, not a single wish more has
your grateful Pamela! My heart is overwhelmed with your
goodness! Forgive these tears of joy, added I: You have left
me nothing to pray for, but that God will bless you with
life, and health, and honour, and continue to me the
blessing of your esteem; and I shall then be the happiest
creature in the world.
He clasped me in his arms, and said, You cannot, my dear
life, be so happy in me, as I am in you. O how heartily I
despise all my former pursuits, and headstrong appetites!
What joys, what true joys, flow from virtuous love! joys
which the narrow soul of the libertine cannot take in, nor
his thoughts conceive! And which I myself, whilst a
libertine, had not the least notion of!
But, said he, I expected my dear spouse, my Pamela, had
something to ask for herself. But since all her own good is
absorbed in the delight her generous heart takes in
promoting that of others, it shall be my study to prevent
her wishes, and to make her care for herself unnecessary, by
my anticipating kindness.
In this manner, my dear parents, is your happy daughter
blessed in a husband! O how my exulting heart leaps at the
dear, dear word!—And I have nothing to do, but to be humble,
and to look up with gratitude to the all-gracious dispenser
of these blessings.
So, with a thousand thanks, I afterwards retired to my
closet, to write you thus far. And having completed what I
purpose for this packet, and put up the kind obliging
present, I have nothing more to say, but that I hope soon to
see you both, and receive your blessings on this happy,
thrice happy occasion. And so, hoping for your prayers, that
I may preserve an humble and upright mind to my gracious
God, a dutiful gratitude to my dear master and husband—that
I may long rejoice in the continuance of these blessings and
favours, and that I may preserve, at the same time, an
obliging deportment to every one else, I conclude myself,
Your ever-dutiful and most happy daughter,
PAMELA B——
O think it not my pride, my dear parents, that sets me on
glorying in my change of name! Yours will be always dear to
me, and what I shall never be ashamed of, I'm sure: But
yet—for such a husband!—What shall I say, since words are
too faint to express my gratitude and my joy!
I have taken copies of my master's letter to Mr. Longman,
and mine to Mrs. Jervis, which I will send with the further
occurrences, when I go to the other dear house, or give you
when I see you, as I now hope soon to do.
Saturday morning, the third of my happy nuptials.
I must still write on, till I come to be settled in the
duty of the station to which I am so generously exalted, and
to let you participate with me the transporting pleasures
that rise from my new condition, and the favours that are
hourly heaped upon me by the best of husbands. When I had
got my packet for you finished, I then set about writing, as
he had kindly directed me, to Mrs. Jervis; and had no
difficulty till I came to sign my name; and so I brought it
down with me, when I was called to supper, unsigned.
My good master (for I delight, and always shall, to call
him by that name) had been writing to Mr. Longman; and he
said, pleasantly, See, here, my dearest, what I have written
to your Somebody. I read as follows:
'Mr. LONGMAN,
'I have the pleasure to acquaint you, that last Thursday
I was married to my beloved Pamela. I have had reason to be
disobliged with you, and Mrs. Jervis and Jonathan, not for
your kindness to, and regard for, my dear spouse, that now
is, but for the manner, in which you appealed to my sister
Davers; which has made a very wide breach between her and
me. But as it was one of her first requests, that I would
overlook what had passed, and reinstate you in all your
former charges, I think myself obliged, without the least
hesitation, to comply with it. So, if you please, you may
enter again upon an office which you have always executed
with unquestionable integrity, and to the satisfaction of
'Yours etc.'
'Friday afternoon.'
'I shall set out next Tuesday or Wednesday for
Bedfordshire; and desire to find Jonathan, as well as you,
in your former offices; in which, I dare say, you'll have
the more pleasure, as you have such an early instance of the
sentiments of my dear wife, from whose goodness you may
expect every agreeable thing. She writes herself to Mrs.
Jervis.'
I thanked him most gratefully for his goodness; and
afterwards took the above copy of it; and shewed him my
letter to Mrs. Jervis, as follows:
'My DEAR MRS. JERVIS,
'I have joyful tidings to communicate to you. For
yesterday I was happily married to the best of gentlemen,
yours and my beloved master. I have only now to tell you,
that I am inexpressibly happy: that my generous benefactor
denies me nothing, and even anticipates my wishes. You may
be sure I could not forget my dear Mrs. Jervis; and I made
it my request, and had it granted, as soon as asked, that
you might return to the kind charge, which you executed with
so much advantage to our master's interest, and so much
pleasure to all under your direction. All the power that is
put into my hands, by the most generous of men, shall be
exerted to make every thing easy and agreeable to you: And
as I shall soon have the honour of attending my beloved to
Bedfordshire, it will be a very considerable addition to my
delight, and to my unspeakable obligations to the best of
men, to see my dear Mrs. Jervis, and to be received by her
with that pleasure, which I promise myself from her
affection. For I am, my dear good friend, and always will
be,
'Yours, very affectionately, and gratefully,
PAMELA ——.'

He read this letter, and said, 'Tis yours, my dear, and
must be good: But don't you put your name to it? Sir, said
I, your goodness has given me a right to a very honourable
one but as this is the first occasion of the kind, except
that to my dear father and mother, I think I ought to shew
it you unsigned, that I may not seem over-forward to take
advantage of the honour you have done me.
However sweetly humble and requisite, said he, this may
appear to my dear Pamela's niceness, it befits me to tell
you, that I am every moment more and more pleased with the
right you have to my name: and, my dear life, added he, I
have only to wish I may be half as worthy as you are of the
happy knot so lately knit. He then took a pen himself, and
wrote, after Pamela, his most worthy sirname; and I
under-wrote thus: 'O rejoice with me, my dear Mrs. Jervis,
that I am enabled, by God's graciousness, and my dear
master's goodness, thus to write myself!'
These letters, and the packet to you, were sent away by
Mr. Thomas early this morning.
My dearest master is just gone to take a ride out, and
intends to call upon Lady Jones, Mr. Peters, and Sir Simon
Darnford, to invite them to chapel and dinner to-morrow; and
says, he chooses to do it himself, because the time is so
short, they will, perhaps, deny a servant.
I forgot to mention, that Mr. Williams was here
yesterday, to ask leave to go to see his new living, and to
provide for taking possession of it; and seemed so pleased
with my master's kindness and fondness for me, as well as
his generous deportment to himself, that he left us in such
a disposition, as shewed he was quite happy. I am very glad
of it; for it would rejoice me to be an humble means of
making all mankind so: And oh! what returns ought I not to
make to the divine goodness! and how ought I to strive to
diffuse the blessings I experience, to all in my
knowledge!—For else, what is it for such a worm as I to be
exalted! What is my single happiness, if I suffer it,
niggard-like, to extend no farther than to myself?—But then,
indeed, do God Almighty's creatures act worthy of the
blessings they receive, when they make, or endeavour to
make, the whole creation, so far as is in the circle of
their power, happy!
Great and good God! as thou hast enlarged my
opportunities, enlarge also my will, and make me delight in
dispensing to others a portion of that happiness, which I
have myself so plentifully received at the hand of thy
gracious Providence! Then shall I not be useless in my
generation!—Then shall I not stand a single mark of thy
goodness to a poor worthless creature, that in herself is of
so small account in the scale of beings, a mere cipher on
the wrong side of a figure; but shall be placed on the right
side; and, though nothing worth in myself, shall give
signification by my place, and multiply the blessings I owe
to thy goodness, which has distinguished me by so fair a
lot!
This, as I conceive, is the indispensable duty of a high
condition; and how great must be the condemnation of poor
creatures, at the great day of account, when they shall be
asked, What uses they have made of the opportunities put
into their hands? and are able only to say, We have lived
but to ourselves: We have circumscribed all the power thou
hast given us into one narrow, selfish, compass: We have
heaped up treasures for those who came after us, though we
knew not whether they would not make a still worse use of
them than we ourselves did! And how can such poor selfish
pleaders expect any other sentence, than the dreadful,
Depart, ye cursed!
But sure, my dear father and mother, such persons can
have no notion of the exalted pleasures that flow from doing
good, were there to be no after-account at all!
There is something so satisfactory and pleasing to
reflect on the being able to administer comfort and relief
to those who stand in need of it, as infinitely, of itself,
rewards the beneficent mind. And how often have I
experienced this in my good lady's time, though but the
second-hand dispenser of her benefits to the poor and
sickly, when she made me her almoner!—How have I been
affected with the blessings which the miserable have heaped
upon her for her goodness, and upon me for being but the
humble conveyer of her bounty to them!—And how delighted
have I been, when the moving report I have made of a
particular distress, has augmented my good lady's first
intentions in relief of it!
This I recall with pleasure, because it is now, by the
divine goodness, become my part to do those good things she
was wont to do: And oh! let me watch myself, that my
prosperous state do not make me forget to look up, with due
thankfulness, to the Providence which has entrusted me with
the power, that so I may not incur a terrible woe by the
abuse or neglect of it!
Forgive me these reflections, my dear parents; and let me
have your prayers, that I may not find my present happiness
a snare to me; but that I may consider, that more and more
will be expected from me, in proportion to the power given
me; and that I may not so unworthily act, as if I believed I
ought to set up my rest in my mean self, and think nothing
further to be done, with the opportunities put into my hand,
by the divine favour, and the best of men!
Saturday, seven o'clock in the evening.
My master returned home to dinner, in compliment to me,
though much pressed to dine with Lady Jones, as he was,
also, by Sir Simon, to dine with him. But Mr. Peters could
not conveniently provide a preacher for his own church
tomorrow morning, at so short a notice; Mr. Williams being
gone, as I said, to his new living; but believed he could
for the afternoon; and so he promised to give us his company
to dinner, and to read afternoon service: and this made my
master invite all the rest, as well as him, to dinner, and
not to church; and he made them promise to come; and told
Mr. Peters, he would send his coach for him and his family.
Miss Darnford told him pleasantly, She would not come,
unless he would promise to let her be at his wedding; by
which I find Mr. Peters has kept the secret, as my master
desired.
He was pleased to give me an airing after dinner in the
chariot, and renewed his kind assurances to me, and, if
possible, is kinder than ever. This is sweetly comfortable
to me, because it shews me he does not repent of his
condescensions to me; and it encourages me to look up to him
with more satisfaction of mind, and less doubtfulness.
I begged leave to send a guinea to a poor body in the
town, that I heard, by Mrs. Jewkes, lay very ill, and was
very destitute. He said, Send two, my dear, if you please.
Said I, Sir, I will never do any thing of this kind without
letting you know what I do. He most generously answered, I
shall then, perhaps, have you do less good than you would
otherwise do, from a doubt of me; though, I hope, your
discretion, and my own temper, which is not avaricious, will
make such doubt causeless.
Now, my dear, continued he, I'll tell you how we will
order this point, to avoid even the shadow of uneasiness on
one side, or doubt on the other.
As to your father and mother, in the first place, they
shall be quite out of the question; for I have already
determined in my mind about them; and it is thus: They shall
go down, if they and you think well of it, to my little
Kentish estate; which I once mentioned to you in such a
manner, as made you reject it with a nobleness of mind, that
gave me pain then, but pleasure since. There is a pretty
little farm, and house, untenanted, upon that estate, and
tolerably well stocked, and I will further stock it for
them; for such industrious folks won't know how to live
without some employment; And it shall be theirs for both
their lives, without paying any rent; and I will allow them
50l. per annum besides, that they may keep up the stock, and
be kind to any other of their relations, without being
beholden to you or me for small matters; and for greater,
where needful, you shall always have it in your power to
accommodate them; for I shall never question your prudence.
And we will, so long as God spares our lives, go down, once
a year, to see them; and they shall come up, as often as
they please, it cannot be too often, to see us: for I mean
not this, my dear, to send them from us.—Before I proceed,
does my Pamela like this?
O, sir, said I, the English tongue affords not words, or,
at least, I have them not, to express sufficiently my
gratitude! Teach me, dear sir, continued I, and pressed his
dear hand to my lips, teach me some other language, if there
be any, that abounds with more grateful terms; that I may
not thus be choked with meanings, for which I can find no
utterance.
My charmer! says he, your language is all wonderful, as
your sentiments; and you most abound, when you seem most to
want!—All that I wish, is to find my proposals agreeable to
you; and if my first are not, my second shall be, if I can
but know what you wish.
Did I say too much, my dearest parents, when I said, He
was, if possible, kinder and kinder?—O the blessed man! how
my heart is overwhelmed with his goodness!
Well, said he, my dearest, let me desire you to mention
this to them, to see if they approve it. But, if it be your
choice, and theirs, to have them nearer to you, or even
under the same roof with you, I will freely consent to it.
O no, sir, said I, (and I fear almost sinned in my
grateful flight,) I am sure they would not choose that; they
could not, perhaps, serve God so well if they were to live
with you: For, so constantly seeing the hand that blesses
them, they would, it may be, as must be my care to avoid, be
tempted to look no further in their gratitude, than to the
dear dispenser of such innumerable benefits.
Excellent creature! said he: My beloved wants no
language, nor sentiments neither; and her charming thoughts,
so sweetly expressed, would grace any language; and this is
a blessing almost peculiar to my fairest.—Your so kind
acceptance, my Pamela, added he, repays the benefit with
interest, and leaves me under obligation to your goodness.
But now, my dearest, I will tell you what we will do,
with regard to points of your own private charity; for far
be it from me, to put under that name the subject we have
been mentioning; because that, and more than that, is duty
to persons so worthy, and so nearly related to my Pamela,
and, as such, to myself.—O how the sweet man outdoes me, in
thoughts, words, power, and every thing!
And this, said he, lies in very small compass; for I will
allow you two hundred pounds a year, which Longman shall
constantly pay you, at fifty pounds a quarter, for your own
use, and of which I expect no account; to commence from the
day you enter into my other house: I mean, said he, that the
first fifty pounds shall then be due; because you shall have
something to begin with. And, added the dear generous man,
if this be pleasing to you, let it, since you say you want
words, be signified by such a sweet kiss as you gave me
yesterday. I hesitated not a moment to comply with these
obliging terms, and threw my arms about his dear neck,
though in the chariot, and blessed his goodness to me. But,
indeed, sir, said I, I cannot bear this generous treatment!
He was pleased to say, Don't be uneasy, my dear, about these
trifles: God has blessed me with a very good estate, and all
of it in a prosperous condition, and generally well
tenanted. I lay up money every year, and have, besides,
large sums in government and other securities; so that you
will find, what I have hitherto promised, is very short of
that proportion of my substance, which, as my dearest wife,
you have a right to.
In this sweet manner did we pass our time till evening,
when the chariot brought us home; and then our supper
succeeded in the same agreeable manner. And thus, in a
rapturous circle, the time moves on; every hour bringing
with it something more delightful than the past!—Sure nobody
was ever so blest as I!
Sunday, the fourth day of my happiness.
Not going to chapel this morning, the reason of which I
told you, I bestowed the time, from the hour of my beloved's
rising, to breakfast, in prayer and thanksgiving, in my
closet; and now I begin to be quite easy, cheerful, and free
in my spirits; and the rather, as I find myself encouraged
by the tranquillity, and pleasing vivacity, in the temper
and behaviour of my beloved, who thereby shews he does not
repent of his goodness to me.
I attended him to breakfast with great pleasure and
freedom, and he seemed quite pleased with me, and said, Now
does my dearest begin to look upon me with an air of
serenity and satisfaction: it shall be always, added he, my
delight to give you occasion for this sweet becoming aspect
of confidence and pleasure in me.—My heart, dear sir, said
I, is quite easy, and has lost all its foolish tumults,
which, combating with my gratitude, might give an
unacceptable appearance to my behaviour: but now your
goodness, sir, has enabled it to get the better of its
uneasy apprehensions, and my heart is all of one piece, and
devoted to you, and grateful tranquillity. And could I be so
happy as to see you and my good Lady Davers reconciled, I
have nothing in this world to wish for more, but the
continuance of your favour. He said, I wish this
reconciliation, my dearest, as well as you: and I do assure
you, more for your sake than my own; and if she would behave
tolerably, I would make the terms easier to her, for that
reason.
He said, I will lay down one rule for you, my Pamela, to
observe in your dress; and I will tell you every thing I
like or dislike, as it occurs to me: and I would have you do
the same, on your part; that nothing may be upon either of
our minds that may occasion the least reservedness.
I have often observed, in married folks, that, in a
little while, the lady grows careless in her dress; which,
to me, looks as if she would take no pains to secure the
affection she had gained; and shews a slight to her husband,
that she had not to her lover. Now, you must know, this has
always given me great offence; and I should not forgive it,
even in my Pamela: though she would have this excuse for
herself, that thousands could not make, That she looks
lovely in every thing. So, my dear, I shall expect of you
always to be dressed by dinner-time, except something
extraordinary happens; and this, whether you are to go
abroad, or stay at home. For this, my love, will continue to
you that sweet ease in your dress and behaviour, which you
are so happy a mistress of; and whomsoever I bring home with
me to my table, you'll be in readiness to receive them; and
will not want to make those foolish apologies to unexpected
visitors, that carry with them a reflection on the conduct
of those who make them; and, besides, will convince me, that
you think yourself obliged to appear as graceful to your
husband, as you would to persons less familiar to your
sight.
This, dear sir, said I, is a most obliging injunction;
and I most heartily thank you for it, and will always take
care to obey it.—Why, my dear, said he, you may better do
this than half your sex; because they too generally act in
such a manner, as if they seemed to think it the privilege
of birth and fortune, to turn day into night, and night into
day, and are seldom stirring till it is time to sit down to
dinner; and so all the good old family rules are reversed:
For they breakfast, when they should dine; dine, when they
should sup; and sup, when they should go to bed; and, by the
help of dear quadrille, sometimes go to bed when they should
rise.—In all things but these, my dear, continued he, I
expect you to be a lady. And my good mother was one of this
oldfashioned cut, and, in all other respects, as worthy a
lady as any in the kingdom. And so you have not been used to
the new way, and may the easier practise the other.
Dear sir, said I, pray give me more of your sweet
injunctions. Why then, continued he, I shall, in the usual
course, and generally, if not hindered by company, like to
go to bed with my dearest by eleven; and, if I don't, shan't
hinder you. I ordinarily now rise by six in summer. I will
allow you to be half an hour after me, or so.
Then you'll have some time you may call your own, till
you give me your company to breakfast; which may be always
so, as that we may have done at a little after nine.
Then will you have several hours again at your disposal,
till two o'clock, when I shall like to sit down at table.
You will then have several useful hours more to employ
yourself in, as you shall best like; and I would generally
go to supper by eight; and when we are resolved to stick to
these oldfashioned rules, as near as we can, we shall have
our visitors conform to them too, and expect them from us,
and suit themselves accordingly: For I have always observed,
that it is in every one's power to prescribe rules to
himself. It is only standing a few ridiculous jests at
first, and that too from such, generally, as are not the
most worthy to be minded; and, after a while, they will say,
It signifies nothing to ask him: he will have his own way.
There is no putting him out of his bias. He is a regular
piece of clock-work, they will joke, and all that: And why,
my dear, should we not be so? For man is as frail a piece of
machinery as any clock-work whatever; and, by irregularity,
is as subject to be disordered.
Then, my dear, continued the charming man, when they see
they are received, at my own times, with an open countenance
and cheerful heart; when they see plenty and variety at my
board, and meet a kind and hearty welcome from us both; they
will not offer to break in upon my conditions, nor grudge me
my regular hours: And as most of these people have nothing
to do, except to rise in a morning, they may as well come to
breakfast with us at half an hour after eight, in summer, as
at ten or eleven; to dinner at two, as at four, five, or
six; and to supper at eight, as at ten or eleven. And then
our servants, too, will know, generally, the times of their
business, and the hours of their leisure or recess; and we,
as well as they, shall reap the benefits of this regularity.
And who knows, my dear, but we may revive the good
oldfashion in our neighbourhood, by this means?—At least it
will be doing our parts towards it; and answering the good
lesson I learned at school, Every one mend one. And the
worst that will happen will be, that when some of my brother
rakes, such as those who broke in upon us, so unwelcomely,
last Thursday, are got out of the way, if that can ever be,
and begin to consider who they shall go to dine with in
their rambles, they will only say, We must not go to him,
for his dinner-time is over; and so they'll reserve me for
another time, when they happen to suit it better; or,
perhaps, they will take a supper and a bed with me instead
of it.
Now, my dearest, continued the kind man, you see here are
more of my injunctions, as you call them; and though I will
not be so set, as to quarrel, if they are not always exactly
complied with; yet, as I know you won't think them
unreasonable, I shall be glad they may, as often as they
can; and you will give your orders accordingly to your Mrs.
Jervis, who is a good woman, and will take pleasure in
obeying you.
O dearest, dear sir, said I, have you nothing more to
honour me with? You oblige and improve me at the same
time.—What a happy lot is mine!
Why, let me see, my dearest, said he—But I think of no
more at present: For it would be needless to say how much I
value you for your natural sweetness of temper, and that
open cheerfulness of countenance, which adorns you, when
nothing has given my fairest apprehensions for her virtue: A
sweetness, and a cheerfulness, that prepossesses in your
favour, at first sight, the mind of every one that beholds
you.—I need not, I hope, say, that I would have you
diligently preserve this sweet appearance: Let no thwarting
accident, no cross fortune, (for we must not expect to be
exempt from such, happy as we now are in each other!)
deprive this sweet face of this its principal grace: And
when any thing unpleasing happens, in a quarter of an hour,
at farthest, begin to mistrust yourself, and apply to your
glass; and if you see a gloom arising, or arisen, banish it
instantly; smooth your dear countenance; resume your former
composure; and then, my dearest, whose heart must always be
seen in her face, and cannot be a hypocrite, will find this
a means to smooth her passions also: And if the occasion be
too strong for so sudden a conquest, she will know how to do
it more effectually, by repairing to her closet, and begging
that gracious assistance, which has never yet failed her:
And so shall I, my dear, who, as you once but too justly
observed, have been too much indulged by my good mother,
have an example from you, as well as a pleasure in you,
which will never be palled.
One thing, continued he, I have frequently observed at
the house of many a gentleman, That when we have
unexpectedly visited, or broken in upon the family order
laid down by the lady; and especially if any of us have lain
under the suspicion of having occasionally seduced our
married companion into bad hours, or given indifferent
examples, the poor gentleman has been oddly affected at our
coming; though the good breeding of the lady has made her
just keep up appearances. He has looked so conscious; has
been so afraid, as it were, to disoblige; has made so many
excuses for some of us, before we had been accused, as have
always shewn me how unwelcome we have been; and how much he
is obliged to compound with his lady for a tolerable
reception of us; and, perhaps, she too, in proportion to the
honest man's concern to court her smiles, has been more
reserved, stiff, and formal; and has behaved with an
indifference and slight that has often made me wish myself
out of her house; for too plainly have I seen that it was
not his.
This, my dear, you will judge, by my description, has
afforded me subject for animadversion upon the married life;
for a man may not (though, in the main, he is willing to
flatter himself that he is master of his house, and will
assert his prerogative upon great occasions, when it is
strongly invaded) be always willing to contend; and such
women as those I have described, are always ready to take
the field, and are worse enemies than the old Parthians, who
annoy most when they seem to retreat; and never fail to
return to the charge again, and carry on the offensive war,
till they have tired out resistance, and made the husband
willing, like a vanquished enemy, to compound for small
matters, in order to preserve something. At least the poor
man does not care to let his friends see his case; and so
will not provoke a fire to break out, that he sees (and so
do his friends too) the meek lady has much ado to smother;
and which, very possibly, burns with a most comfortable
ardour, after we are gone.
You smile, my Pamela, said he, at this whimsical picture;
and, I am sure, I never shall have reason to include you in
these disagreeable outlines; but yet I will say, that I
expect from you, whoever comes to my house, that you
accustom yourself to one even, uniform complaisance: That no
frown take place on your brow: That however ill or well
provided we may be for their reception, you shew no flutter
or discomposure: That whoever you may have in your company
at the time, you signify not, by the least reserved look,
that the stranger is come upon you unseasonably, or at a
time you wished he had not. But be facetious, kind, obliging
to all; and, if to one more than another, to such as have
the least reason to expect it from you, or who are most
inferior at the table; for thus will you, my Pamela, cheer
the doubting mind, quiet the uneasy heart, and diffuse ease,
pleasure, and tranquillity, around my board.
And be sure, my dear, continued he, let no little
accidents ruffle your temper. I shall never forget once that
I was at Lady Arthur's; and a footman happened to stumble,
and let fall a fine china dish, and broke it all to pieces:
It was grievous to see the uneasiness it gave the poor lady:
And she was so sincere in it, that she suffered it to spread
all over the company; and it was a pretty large one too; and
not a person in it but turned either her consoler, or fell
into stories of the like misfortunes; and so we all became,
for the rest of the evening, nothing but blundering footmen,
and careless servants, or were turned into broken jars,
plates, glasses, tea-cups, and such like brittle substances.
And it affected me so much, that, when I came home, I went
to bed, and dreamt, that Robin, with the handle of his whip,
broke the fore glass of my chariot; and I was so solicitous,
methought, to keep the good lady in countenance for her
anger, that I broke his head in revenge, and stabbed one of
my coach-horses. And all the comfort I had when it was done,
methought, was, that I had not exposed myself before
company; and there were no sufferers, but guilty Robin, and
one innocent coach-horse.
I was exceedingly diverted with the facetious hints, and
the pleasant manner in which he gave them; and I promised to
improve by the excellent lessons contained in them.
I then went up and dressed myself, as like a bride as I
could, in my best clothes; and, on inquiry, hearing my
dearest master was gone to walk in the garden, I went to
find him out. He was reading in the little alcove; and I
said, Sir, am I licensed to intrude upon you?—No, my dear,
said he, because you cannot intrude. I am so wholly yours,
that, wherever I am, you have not only a right to join me,
but you do me a very acceptable favour at the same time.
I have, sir, said I, obeyed your first kind injunction,
as to dressing myself before dinner; but may be you are
busy, sir. He put up the papers he was reading, and said, I
can have no business or pleasure of equal value to your
company, my dear. What were you going to say?—Only, sir, to
know if you have any more kind injunctions to give me?—I
could hear you talk a whole day together.—You are very
obliging, Pamela, said he; but you are so perfectly what I
wish, that I might have spared those I gave you; but I was
willing you should have a taste of my freedom with you, to
put you upon the like with me: For I am confident there can
be no friendship lasting, without freedom, and without
communicating to one another even the little caprices, if my
Pamela can have any such, which may occasion uneasiness to
either.
Now, my dear, said he, be so kind as to find some fault
with me, and tell me what you would wish me to do, to appear
more agreeable to you. O sir, said I, and I could have
kissed him, but for shame, (To be sure I shall grow a sad
fond hussy,) I have not one single thing to wish for; no,
not one!—He saluted me very kindly, and said, He should be
sorry if I had, and forbore to speak it. Do you think, my
dear sir, said I, that your Pamela has no conscience? Do you
think, that because you so kindly oblige her, and delight in
obliging her, that she must rack her invention for trials of
your goodness, and knows not when she's happy?—O my dearest
sir, added I, less than one half of the favours you have so
generously conferred upon me, would have exceeded my utmost
wishes!
My dear angel, said he, and kissed me again, I shall be
troublesome to you with my kisses, if you continue thus
sweetly obliging in your actions and expressions. O sir,
said I, I have been thinking, as I was dressing myself, what
excellent lessons you teach me!
When you commanded me, at your table to cheer the
doubting mind and comfort the uneasy heart, and to behave
most kindly to those who have least reason to expect it, and
are most inferior; how sweetly, in every instance that could
possibly occur, have you done this yourself by your poor,
unworthy Pamela, till you have diffused, in your own dear
words, ease, pleasure, and tranquillity, around my glad
heart!
Then again, sir, when you bid me not be disturbed by
little accidents, or by strangers coming in upon me
unexpectedly, how noble an instance did you give me of this,
when, on our happy wedding-day, the coming of Sir Charles
Hargrave, and the other two gentlemen, (for which you were
quite unprovided, and which hindered our happiness of dining
together on that chosen day,) did not so disturb you, but
that you entertained the gentlemen pleasantly, and parted
with them civilly and kindly! What charming instances are
these, I have been recollecting with pleasure, of your
pursuing the doctrine you deliver.
My dear, said he, these observations are very kind in
you, and much to my advantage: But if I do not always (for I
fear these were too much accidents) so well pursue the
doctrines I lay down, my Pamela must not expect that my
imperfections will be a plea for her nonobservance of my
lessons, as you call them; for, I doubt I shall never be
half so perfect as you; and so I cannot permit you to recede
in your goodness, though I may find myself unable to advance
as I ought in my duty.
I hope, sir, said I, by God's grace, I never shall. I
believe it, said he; but I only mention this, knowing my own
defects, lest my future lessons should not be so well
warranted by my practice, as in the instances you have
kindly recollected.
He was pleased to take notice of my dress; and spanning
my waist with his hands, said, What a sweet shape is here!
It would make one regret to lose it; and yet, my beloved
Pamela, I shall think nothing but that loss wanting, to
complete my happiness.—I put my bold hand before his mouth,
and said, Hush, hush! O fie, sir!—The freest thing you have
ever yet said, since I have been yours!—He kissed my hand,
and said, Such an innocent wish, my dearest, may be
permitted me, because it is the end of the institution.—But
say, Would such a case be unwelcome to my Pamela?—I will
say, sir, said I, and hid my blushing face on his bosom,
that your wishes, in every thing, shall be mine; but, pray,
sir, say no more. He kindly saluted me, and thanked me, and
changed the subject.—I was not too free, I hope.
Thus we talked, till we heard the coaches; and then he
said, Stay here, in the garden, my dear, and I'll bring the
company to you. And when he was gone, I passed by the
back-door, kneeled down against it, and blessed God for not
permitting my then so much desired escape. I went to the
pond, and kneeled down on the mossy bank, and again blessed
God there, for his mercy in my escape from myself, my then
worst enemy, though I thought I had none but enemies, and no
friend near me. And so I ought to do in almost every step of
this garden, and every room in this house!—And I was bending
my steps to the dear little chapel, to make my
acknowledgment there; but I saw the company coming towards
me.
Miss Darnford said, So, Miss Andrews, how do you do now?
O, you look so easy, so sweetly, so pleased, that I know
you'll let me dance at your wedding, for I shall long to be
there! Lady Jones was pleased to say I looked like an angel:
And Mrs. Peters said, I improved upon them every time they
saw me. Lady Darnford was also pleased to make me a fine
compliment, and said, I looked freer and easier every time
she saw me. Dear heart! I wish, thought I, you would spare
these compliments; for I shall have some joke, I doubt,
passed on me by-and-by, that will make me suffer for all
these fine things.
Mr. Peters said, softly, God bless you, dear
daughter!—But not so much as my wife knows it.—Sir Simon
came in last, and took me by the hand, and said, Mr. B——, by
your leave; and kissed my hand five or six times, as if he
was mad; and held it with both his, and made a very free
jest, by way of compliment, in his way. Well, I think a
young rake is hardly tolerable; but an old rake, and an old
beau, are two very sad things!—And all this before
daughters, women-grown!—I whispered my dearest, a little
after, and said, I fear I shall suffer much from Sir Simon's
rude jokes, by-and-by, when you reveal the matter.—'Tis his
way, my dear, said he; you must now grow above these
things.—Miss Nanny Darnford said to me, with a sort of half
grave, ironical air,—Well, Miss Andrews, if I may judge by
your easy deportment now, to what it was when I saw you
last, I hope you will let my sister, if you won't me, see
the happy knot tied! For she is quite wild about it.—I
courtesied, and only said, You are all very good to me,
ladies.—Mr. Peters's niece said, Well, Miss Andrews, I hope,
before we part, we shall be told the happy day. My good
master heard her, and said, You shall, you shall,
madam.—That's pure, said Miss Darnford.
He took me aside, and said softly, Shall I lead them to
the alcove, and tell them there, or stay till we go in to
dinner?—Neither, sir, I think, said I, I fear I shan't stand
it.—Nay, said he, they must know it; I would not have
invited them else.—Why then, sir, said I, let it alone till
they are going away.—Then, replied he, you must pull off
your ring. No, no, sir, said I, that I must not.—Well, said
he, do you tell Miss Darnford of it yourself.—Indeed, sir,
answered I, I cannot.
Mrs. Jewkes came officiously to ask my master, just then,
if she should bring a glass of rhenish and sugar before
dinner, for the gentlemen and ladies: And he said, That's
well thought of; bring it, Mrs. Jewkes.
And she came, with Nan attending her, with two bottles
and glasses, and a salver; and must needs, making a low
courtesy, offered first to me; saying, Will your ladyship
begin? I coloured like scarlet, and said, No;—my master, to
be sure!
But they all took the hint; and Miss Darnford said, I'll
be hanged if they have not stolen a wedding! said Mrs.
Peters, It must certainly be so! Ah! Mr. Peters.
I'll assure you, said he, I have not married them. Where
were you, said she, and Mr. Williams, last Thursday morning?
said Sir Simon, Let me alone, let me alone; if any thing has
been stolen, I'll find it out! I'm a justice of the peace,
you know. And so he took me by the hand, and said, Come,
madam, answer me, by the oath you have taken: Are you
married or not?
My master smiled, to see me look so like a fool; and I
said, Pray, Sir Simon!—Ay, ay, said he; I thought you did
not look so smirking upon us for nothing.—Well, then,
Pamela, said my master, since your blushes discover you,
don't be ashamed, but confess the truth!
Now, said Miss Darnford, I am quite angry; and, said Lady
Darnford, I am quite pleased; let me give you joy, dear
madam, if it be so. And so they all said, and saluted me all
round.—I was vexed it was before Mrs. Jewkes; for she shook
her fat sides, and seemed highly pleased to be a means of
discovering it.
Nobody, said my master, wishes me joy. No, said Lady
Jones, very obligingly, nobody need; for, with such a
peerless spouse, you want no good wishes:—And he saluted
them; and when he came last to me, said, before them all,
Now, my sweet bride, my Pamela, let me conclude with you;
for here I began to love, and here I desire to end loving,
but not till my life ends.
This was sweetly said, and taken great notice of; and it
was doing credit to his own generous choice, and vastly more
than I merited.
But I was forced to stand many more jokes afterwards: For
Sir Simon said, several times, Come, come, madam, now you
are become one of us, I shall be a little less scrupulous
than I have been, I'll assure you.
When we came in to dinner, I made no difficulty of what
all offered me, the upper end of the table; and performed
the honours of it with pretty tolerable presence of mind,
considering. And, with much ado, my good benefactor
promising to be down again before winter, we got off the
ball; but appointed Tuesday evening, at Lady Darnford's, to
take leave of all this good company, who promised to be
there, my master designing to set out on Wednesday morning
for Bedfordshire.
We had prayers in the little chapel, in the afternoon;
but they all wished for the good clerk again, with great
encomiums upon you, my dear father; and the company staid
supper also, and departed exceeding well satisfied, and with
abundance of wishes for the continuance of our mutual
happiness; and my master desired Mr. Peters to answer for
him to the ringers at the town, if they should hear of it;
till our return into this country; and that then he would be
bountiful to them, because he would not publicly declare it
till he had first done so in Bedfordshire.
Monday, the fifth day.
I have had very little of my dear friend's company this
day; for he only staid breakfast with me, and rode out to
see a sick gentleman about eighteen miles off, who begged
(by a man and horse on purpose) to speak with him, believing
he should not recover, and upon part of whose estate my
master has a mortgage. He said, My dearest, I shall be very
uneasy, if I am obliged to tarry all night from you; but,
lest you should be alarmed, if I don't come home by ten,
don't expect me: For poor Mr. Carlton and I have pretty
large concerns together; and if he should be very ill, and
would be comforted by my presence, (as I know he loves me,
and his family will be more in my power, if he dies, than I
wish for,) charity will not let me refuse.
It is now ten o'clock at night, and I fear he will not
return. I fear, for the sake of his poor sick friend, who, I
doubt, is worse. Though I know not the gentleman, I am sorry
for his own sake, for his family's sake, and for my dear
master's sake, who, by his kind expressions, I find, loves
him: And, methinks, I should be sorry any grief should touch
his generous heart; though yet there is no living in this
world, without too many occasions for concern, even in the
most prosperous state. And it is fit it should be so; or
else, poor wretches, as we are! we should look no farther,
but be like sensual travellers on a journey homeward, who,
meeting with good entertainment at some inn on the way, put
up their rest there, and never think of pursuing their
journey to their proper home.—This, I remember, was often a
reflection of my good lady's, to whom I owe it.
Eleven o'clock.
Mrs. Jewkes has been with me, and asked if I will have
her for a bed-fellow, in want of a better? I thanked her;
but I said, I would see how it was to be by myself one
night.
I might have mentioned, that I made Mrs. Jewkes dine and
sup with me; and she was much pleased with it, and my
behaviour to her. And I could see, by her manner, that she
was a little struck inwardly at some of her former conduct
to me. But, poor wretch! it is much, I fear, because I am
what I am; for she has otherwise very little remorse, I
doubt. Her talk and actions are entirely different from what
they used to be, quite circumspect and decent; and I should
have thought her virtuous, and even pious, had I never known
her in another light.
By this we may see, my dear father and mother, of what
force example is, and what is in the power of the heads of
families to do: And this shews, that evil examples, in
superiors, are doubly pernicious, and doubly culpable,
because such persons are bad themselves, and not only do no
good, but much harm to others; and the condemnation of such
must, to be sure, be so much the greater!—And how much the
greater still must my condemnation be, who have had such a
religious education under you, and been so well nurtured by
my good lady, if I should forget, with all these mercies
heaped upon me, what belongs to the station I am preferred
to!—O how I long to be doing some good! For all that is past
yet, is my dear, dear master's, God bless him! and return
him safe to my wishes! for methinks, already, 'tis a week
since I saw him. If my love would not be troublesome and
impertinent, I should be nothing else; for I have a true
grateful spirit; and I had need to have such a one, for I am
poor in every thing but will.
Tuesday morning, eleven o'clock.
My dear, dear—master (I'm sure I should still say; but I
will learn to rise to a softer epithet, now-and-then) is not
yet come. I hope he is safe and well!—So Mrs. Jewkes and I
went to breakfast. But I can do nothing but talk and think
of him, and all his kindness to me, and to you, which is
still me, more intimately!—I have just received a letter
from him, which he wrote overnight, as I find by it, and
sent early this morning. This is a copy of it.

TO MRS. ANDREWS
'MY DEAREST PAMELA, Monday night.
'I hope my not coming home this night will not frighten
you. You may believe I can't help it. My poor friend is so
very ill, that I doubt he can't recover. His desires to have
me stay with him are so strong, that I shall sit up all
night with him, as it is now near one o'clock in the
morning; for he can't bear me out of his sight: And I have
made him and his distressed wife and children so easy, in
the kindest assurances I could give him of my consideration
for him and them, that I am looked upon (as the poor
disconsolate widow, as she, I doubt, will soon be, tells
me,) as their good angel. I could have wished we had not
engaged to the good neighbourhood at Sir Simon's for
to-morrow night; but I am so desirous to set out on
Wednesday for the other house, that, as well as in return
for the civilities of so many good friends, who will be
there on purpose, I would not put it off. What I beg of you,
therefore, my dear, is, that you would go in the chariot to
Sir Simon's, the sooner in the day the better, because you
will be diverted with the company, who all so much admire
you; and I hope to join you there by your tea-time in the
afternoon, which will be better than going home, and
returning with you, as it will be six miles difference to
me; and I know the good company will excuse my dress, on the
occasion. I count every hour of this little absence for a
day: for I am, with the utmost sincerity,
'My dearest love, for ever yours, etc.'
'If you could go to dine with them, it will be a freedom
that would be very pleasing to them; and the more, as they
don't expect it.'
I begin to have a little concern, lest his fatigue should
be too great, and for the poor sick gentleman and family;
but told Mrs. Jewkes, that the least intimation of his
choice should be a command to me, and so I would go to
dinner there; and ordered the chariot to be got ready to
carry me: when a messenger came up, just as I was dressed,
to tell her she must come down immediately. I see at the
window, that visitors are come; for there is a chariot and
six horses, the company gone out of it, and three footmen on
horseback; and I think the chariot has coronets. Who can it
be, I wonder?—But here I will stop, for I suppose I shall
soon know.
Good sirs! how unlucky this is! What shall I do!—Here is
Lady Davers come, her own self! and my kind protector a
great, great many miles off!—Mrs. Jewkes, out of breath,
comes and tells me this, and says, she is inquiring for my
master and me. She asked her, it seemed, naughty lady as she
is, if I was whored yet! There's a word for a lady's mouth!
Mrs. Jewkes says, she knew not what to answer. And my lady
said, She is not married, I hope? And said she, I said, No:
because you have not owned it yet publicly. My lady said,
That was well enough. Said I, I will run away, Mrs. Jewkes;
and let the chariot go to the bottom of the elm-walk, and I
will steal out of the door unperceived: But she is inquiring
for you, madam, replied she, and I said you was within, but
going out; and she said, she would see you presently, as
soon as she could have patience. What did she call me? said
I. The creature, madam; I will see the creature, said she,
as soon as I can have patience. Ay, but, said I, the
creature won't let her, if she can help it.
Pray, Mrs. Jewkes, favour my escape, for this once; for I
am sadly frighted.—Said she, I'll bid the chariot go down,
as you order, and wait till you come; and I'll step down and
shut the hall door, that you may pass unobserved; for she
sits cooling herself in the parlour, over against the
staircase. That's a good Mrs. Jewkes! said I: But who has
she with her? Her woman, answered she, and her nephew; but
he came on horseback, and is going into the stables; and
they have three footmen.—And I wish, said I, they were all
three hundred miles off!—What shall I do?—So I wrote thus
far, and wait impatiently to hear the coast is clear.
Mrs. Jewkes tells me I must come down, or she will come
up. What does she call me now? said I. Wench, madam, Bid the
wench come down to me. And her nephew and her woman are with
her.
Said I, I can't go, and that's enough!—You might contrive
it that I might get out, if you would.—Indeed, madam, said
she, I cannot; for I went to shut the door, and she bid me
let it stand open; and there she sits over against the
staircase. Then, said I, I'll get out of the window, I
think!—(And fanned myself;) for I am sadly frightened. Laud,
madam, said she, I wonder you so much disturb
yourself!—You're on the right side the hedge, I'm sure; and
I would not be so discomposed for any body. Ay, said I, but
who can help constitution? I dare say you would no more be
so discomposed, that I can help it.—Said she, Indeed, madam,
if it was to me, I would put on an air as mistress of the
house, as you are, and go and salute her ladyship, and bid
her welcome. Ay, ay, replied I, fine talking!—But how
unlucky this is, your good master is not at home!
What answer shall I give her, said she, to her desiring
to see you?—Tell her, said I, I am sick a-bed; I'm dying,
and must not be disturbed; I'm gone out—or any thing.
But her woman came up to me just as I had uttered this,
and said, How do you do, Mrs. Pamela? My lady desires to
speak to you. So I must go.—Sure she won't beat me!—Oh that
my dear protector was at home!
Well, now I will tell you all that happened in this
frightful interview.—And very bad it was.
I went down, dressed as I was, and my gloves on, and my
fan in my hand, to be just ready to step into the chariot,
when I could get away; and I thought all my trembling fits
had been over now; but I was mistaken; for I trembled sadly.
Yet resolved to put on as good an air as I could.
So I went to the parlour, and said, making a very low
courtesy, Your servant, my good lady! And your servant
again, said she, my lady, for I think you are dressed out
like one.
A charming girl, though! said her rakish nephew, and
swore a great oath: Dear aunt, forgive me, but I must kiss
her; and was coming to me. And I said, Forbear, uncivil
gentleman! I won't be used freely. Jackey, said my lady, sit
down, and don't touch the creature—She's proud enough
already. There's a great difference in her air, I'll assure
you, since I saw her last.
Well, child, said she, sneeringly, how dost find thyself?
Thou'rt mightily come on, of late!—I hear strange reports
about thee!—Thou'rt almost got into fool's paradise, I
doubt!—And wilt find thyself terribly mistaken in a little
while, if thou thinkest my brother will disgrace his family,
to humour thy baby-face!
I see, said I, sadly vexed, (her woman and nephew smiling
by,) your ladyship has no very important commands for me;
and I beg leave to withdraw. Beck, said she to her woman,
shut the door, my young lady and I must not have done so
soon.
Where's your well-mannered deceiver gone, child?—says
she.—Said I, When your ladyship is pleased to speak
intelligibly, I shall know how to answer.
Well, but my dear child, said she, in drollery, don't be
too pert neither, I beseech thee. Thou wilt not find thy
master's sister half so ready to take thy freedoms, as thy
mannerly master is!—So, a little of that modesty and
humility that my mother's waiting-maid used to shew, will
become thee better than the airs thou givest thyself, since
my mother's son has taught thee to forget thyself.
I would beg, said I, one favour of your ladyship, That if
you would have me keep my distance, you will not forget your
own degree.—Why, suppose, Miss Pert, I should forget my
degree, wouldst thou not keep thy distance then?
If you, madam, said I, lessen the distance yourself, you
will descend to my level, and make an equality, which I
don't presume to think of; for I can't descend lower than I
am—at least in your ladyship's esteem!
Did I not tell you, Jackey, said she, that I should have
a wit to talk to?—He, who swears like a fine gentleman at
every word, rapped out an oath, and said, drolling, I think,
Mrs. Pamela, if I may be so bold as to say so, you should
know you are speaking to Lady Davers!—Sir, said I, I hope
there was no need of your information, and so I can't thank
you for it; and am sorry you seem to think it wants an oath
to convince me of the truth of it.
He looked more foolish than I, at this, if possible, not
expecting such a reprimand.—And said, at last, Why, Mrs.
Pamela, you put me half out of countenance with your witty
reproof!—Sir, said I, you seem quite a fine gentleman; and
it will not be easily done, I dare say.
How now, pert one, said my lady, do you know whom you
talk to?—I think I do not, madam, replied I: and for fear I
should forget myself more, I'll withdraw. Your ladyship's
servant, said I; and was going: but she rose, and gave me a
push, and pulled a chair, and, setting the back against the
door, sat down in it.
Well, said I, I can bear anything at your ladyship's
hands; but I was ready to cry though. And I went, and sat
down, and fanned myself, at the other end of the room.
Her woman, who stood all the time, said softly, Mrs.
Pamela, you should not sit in my lady's presence. And my
lady, though she did not hear her, said, You shall sit down,
child, in the room where I am, when I give you leave.
So I stood up, and said, When your ladyship will hardly
permit me to stand, one might be indulged to sit down. But I
ask you, said she, Whither your master is gone? To one Mr.
Carlton, madam, about eighteen miles off, who is very sick.
And when does he come home?—This evening, madam. And where
are you going? To a gentleman's house in the town,
madam.—And how was you to go? In the chariot, madam.—Why,
you must be a lady in time, to be sure!—I believe you'd
become a chariot mighty well, child!—Was you ever out in it
with your master?
Pray, your ladyship, said I, a little too pertly,
perhaps, be pleased to ask half a dozen such questions
together; because one answer may do for all!—Why, bold-face,
said she, you'll forget your distance, and bring me to your
level before my time.
I could no longer refrain tears, but said, Pray your
ladyship, let me ask what I have done, to be thus severely
treated? I never did your ladyship any harm. And if you
think I am deceived, as you was pleased to hint, I should be
more entitled to your pity, than your anger.
She rose, and took me by the hand, and led me to her
chair; and then sat down; and still holding my hand, said,
Why Pamela, I did indeed pity you while I thought you
innocent; and when my brother seized you, and brought you
down hither, without your consent, I was concerned for you;
and I was still more concerned for you, and loved you, when
I heard of your virtue and resistance, and your laudable
efforts to get away from him. But when, as I fear, you have
suffered yourself to be prevailed upon, and have lost your
innocence, and added another to the number of the fools he
has ruined, (This shocked me a little,) I cannot help
shewing my displeasure to you.
Madam, replied I, I must beg no hasty judgment; I have
not lost my innocence.—Take care, take care, Pamela! said
she: don't lose your veracity, as well as your honour!—Why
are you here, when you are at full liberty to go whither you
please?—I will make one proposal to you, and if you are
innocent, I am sure you'll accept it. Will you go and live
with me?—I will instantly set out with you in my chariot,
and not stay half an hour longer in this house, if you'll go
with me.—Now, if you are innocent, and willing to keep so,
deny me, if you can.
I am innocent, madam, replied I, and willing to keep so;
and yet I cannot consent to this. Then, said she, very
mannerly, Thou liest, child, that's all: and I give thee up!
And so she arose, and walked about the room in great
wrath. Her nephew and her woman said, Your ladyship's very
good; 'tis a plain case; a very plain case!
I would have removed the chair, to have gone out; but her
nephew came and sat in it. This provoked me; for I thought I
should be unworthy of the honour I was raised to, though I
was afraid to own it, if I did not shew some spirit; and I
said, What, sir, is your pretence in this house, to keep me
a prisoner here? Because, said he—I like it.—Do you so, sir?
replied I: if that is the answer of a gentleman to such an
one as I, it would not, I dare say, be the answer of a
gentleman to a gentleman.—My lady! my lady! said he, a
challenge, a challenge, by gad! No, sir, said I, I am of a
sex that gives no challenges; and you think so too, or you
would not give this occasion for the word.
Said my lady, Don't be surprised, nephew; the wench could
not talk thus, if she had not been her master's
bed-fellow.—Pamela, Pamela, said she, and tapped me upon the
shoulder two or three times, in anger, thou hast lost thy
innocence, girl; and thou hast got some of thy bold master's
assurance, and art fit to go any where.—Then, and please
your ladyship, said I, I am unworthy of your presence, and
desire I may quit it.
No, replied she, I will know first what reason you can
give for not accepting my proposal, if you are innocent? I
can give, said I, a very good one: but I beg to be excused.
I will hear it, said she. Why, then, answered I, I should
perhaps have less reason to like this gentleman, than where
I am.
Well then, said she, I'll put you to another trial. I'll
set out this moment with you to your father and mother, and
give you up safe to them. What do you say to that?—Ay, Mrs.
Pamela, said her nephew, now what does your innocence say to
that?—'Fore gad, madam, you have puzzled her now.
Be pleased, madam, said I, to call off this fine
gentleman. Your kindness in these proposals makes me think
you would not have me baited. I'll be d——d, said he, if she
does not make me a bull-dog! Why she'll toss us all by and
by! Sir, said I, you indeed behave as if you were in a
bear-garden.
Jackey, be quiet, said my lady. You only give her a
pretence to evade my questions. Come, answer me, Pamela. I
will, madam, said I, and it is thus: I have no occasion to
be beholden to your ladyship for this honour; for I am to
set out to-morrow morning on the way to my parents.—Now
again thou liest, wench!—I am not of quality, said I, to
answer such language.—Once again, said she, provoke me not,
by these reflections, and this pertness; if thou dost, I
shall do something by thee unworthy of myself. That, thought
I, you have done already; but I ventured not to say so. But
who is to carry you, said she, to your father and mother?
Who my master pleases, madam, said I. Ay, said she, I doubt
not thou wilt do every thing he pleases, if thou hast not
already. Why now tell me, Pamela, from thy heart, hast thou
not been in bed with thy master? Ha, wench!—I was quite
shocked at this, and said, I wonder how your ladyship can
use me thus!—I am sure you can expect no answer; and my sex,
and my tender years, might exempt me from such treatment,
from a person of your ladyship's birth and quality, and who,
be the distance ever so great, is of the same sex with me.
Thou art a confident wench, said she, I see!—Pray, madam,
said I, let me beg you to permit me to go. I am waited for
in the town, to dinner. No, replied she, I can't spare you;
and whomsoever you are to go to, will excuse you, when they
are told 'tis I that command you not to go;—and you may
excuse it too, young Lady Would-be, if you consider, that it
is the unexpected coming of your late lady's daughter, and
your master's sister, that commands your stay.
But a pre-engagement, your ladyship will consider, is
something.—Ay, so it is; but I know not what reason
waiting-maids have to assume these airs of pre-engagements!
Oh, Pamela, Pamela, I am sorry for thy thus aping thy
betters, and giving thyself such airs: I see thou'rt quite
spoiled! Of a modest, innocent girl, that thou wast, and
humble too, thou art now fit for nothing in the world, but
what I fear thou art.
Why, please your ladyship, said her kinsman, what
signifies all you say? The matter's over with her, no doubt;
and she likes it; and she is in a fairy-dream, and 'tis pity
to awaken her before her dream's out.—Bad as you take me to
be, madam, said I, I am not used to such language or
reflections as this gentleman bestows upon me; and I won't
bear it.
Well, Jackey, said she, be silent; and, shaking her head,
Poor girl!—said she—what a sweet innocence is here
destroyed!—A thousand pities!—I could cry over her, if that
would do her good! But she is quite lost, quite undone; and
then has assumed a carriage upon it, that all those
creatures are distinguished by!
I cried sadly for vexation; and said, Say what you
please, madam; if I can help it, I will not answer another
word.
Mrs. Jewkes came in, and asked if her ladyship was ready
for dinner? She said, Yes. I would have gone out with her
but my lady said, taking my hand, she could not spare me.
And, miss, said she, you may pull off your gloves, and lay
your fan by, for you shan't go; and, if you behave well, you
shall wait upon me at dinner, and then I shall have a little
further talk with you.
Mrs. Jewkes said to me, Madam, may I speak one word with
you?—I can't tell, Mrs. Jewkes, said I; for my lady holds my
hand, and you see I am a kind of prisoner.
What you have to say, Mrs. Jewkes, said she, you may
speak before me. But she went out, and seemed vexed for me;
and she says, I looked like the very scarlet.
The cloth was laid in another parlour, and for three
persons, and she led me in: Come, my little dear, said she,
with a sneer, I'll hand you in; and I would have you think
it as well as if it was my brother.
What a sad case, thought I, should I be in, if I were as
naughty as she thinks me! It was bad enough as it was.
Jackey, said my lady, come, let us go to dinner. She said
to her woman, Do you, Beck, help Pamela to 'tend us; we will
have no men-fellows.—Come, my young lady, shall I help you
off with your white gloves? I have not, madam, said I,
deserved this at your ladyship's hands.
Mrs. Jewkes, coming in with the first dish, she said, Do
you expect any body else, Mrs. Jewkes, that you lay the
cloth for three? said she, I hoped your ladyship and madam
would have been so well reconciled, that she would have sat
down too.—What means the clownish woman? said my lady, in
great disdain: Could you think the creature should sit down
with me? She does, madam, and please your ladyship, with my
master.—I doubt it not, good woman, said she, and lies with
him too, does she not? Answer me, fat-face!—How these ladies
are privileged.
If she does, madam, said she, there may be a reason for
it, perhaps! and went out.—So! said she, has the wench got
thee over too? Come, my little dear, pull off thy gloves, I
say; and off she pulled my left glove herself, and spied my
ring. O my dear God! said she, if the wench has not got a
ring!—Well, this is a pretty piece of foolery, indeed! Dost
know, my friend, that thou art miserably tricked? And so,
poor innocent, thou hast made a fine exchange, hast thou
not? Thy honesty for this bauble? And, I'll warrant, my
little dear has topped her part, and paraded it like any
real wife; and so mimics still the condition!—Why, said she,
and turned me round, thou art as mincing as any bride! No
wonder thou art thus tricked out, and talkest of thy
pre-engagements! Pr'ythee, child, walk before me to that
glass; survey thyself, and cone back to me, that I may see
how finely thou can'st act the theatrical part given thee!
I was then resolved to try to be silent, although most
sadly vexed.—So I went and sat me down in the window, and
she took her place at the upper end of the table; and her
saucy Jackey, fleering at me most provokingly, sat down by
her. Said he, Shall not the bride sit down by us, madam? Ay,
well thought of! said my lady: Pray, Mrs. Bride, your pardon
for sitting down in your place!—I said nothing.
Said she, with a poor pun, Thou hast some modesty,
however, child! for thou can'st not stand it, so must sit
down, though in my presence!—I still kept my seat, and said
nothing.—Thought I, this is a sad thing, that I am hindered
too from shewing my duty where it is most due, and shall
have anger there too, may be, if my dear master should be
there before me!—So she ate some soup, as did her kinsman;
and then, as she was cutting up a fowl, said, If thou
longest, my little dear, I will help thee to a pinion, or
breast, or any thing. But may be, child, said he, thou
likest the rump; shall I bring it thee? And then laughed
like an idiot, for all he is a lord's son, and may be a lord
himself.—For he is the son of Lord ——; and his mother, who
was Lord Davers's sister, being dead, he has received what
education he has, from Lord Davers's direction. Poor wretch!
for all his greatness! he'll ne'er die for a plot—at least
of his own hatching. If I could then have gone up, I would
have given you his picture. But, for one of 25 or 26 years
of age, much about the age of my dear master, he is a most
odd mortal.
Pamela, said my lady, help me to a glass of wine. No,
Beck, said she, you shan't; for she was offering to do it. I
will have my lady bride confer that honour upon me; and then
I shall see if she can stand up. I was silent, and never
stirred.
Dost hear, chastity? said she, help me to a glass of
wine, when I bid thee.—What! not stir? Then I'll come and
help thee to one. Still I stirred not, and, fanning myself,
continued silent. Said she, When I have asked thee,
meek-one, half a dozen questions together, I suppose thou
wilt answer them all at once! Pretty creature, is not that
it?
I was so vexed, I bit a piece of my fan out, not knowing
what I did; but still I said nothing, and did nothing but
flutter it, and fan myself.
I believe, said she, my next question will make up half a
dozen; and then, modest one, I shall be entitled to an
answer.
He rose and brought the bottle and glass; Come, said he,
Mrs. Bride, be pleased to help my lady, and I will be your
deputy. Sir, replied I, it is in a good hand; help my lady
yourself.—Why, creature, said she, dost thou think thyself
above it?—And then flew into a passion:—Insolence! continued
she, this moment, when I bid you, know your duty, and give
me a glass of wine; or—
So I took a little spirit then—Thought I, I can but be
beat.—If, said I, to attend your ladyship at table, or even
kneel at your feet, was required of me, I would most gladly
do it, were I only the person you think me; but, if it be to
triumph over one who has received honours, that she thinks
require her to act another part, not to be utterly unworthy
of them, I must say, I cannot do it.
She seemed quite surprised, and looked now upon her
kinsman, and then upon her woman—I'm astonished—quite
astonished!—Well, then, I suppose you would have me conclude
you my brother's wife; could you not?
Your ladyship, said I, compels me to say this!—Well,
returned she, but dost thou thyself think thou art
so?—Silence, said her kinsman, gives consent. 'Tis plain
enough she does. Shall I rise, madam, and pay my duty to my
new aunt?
Tell me, said my lady, what, in the name of impudence,
possesses thee to dare to look upon thyself as my
sister?—Madam, replied I, that is a question will better
become your most worthy brother to answer, than me.
She was rising in great wrath: but her woman said, Good
your ladyship, you'll do yourself more harm than her; and if
the poor girl has been deluded so, as you have heard, with
the sham marriage, she'll be more deserving of your
ladyship's pity than anger. True, Beck, very true, said my
lady; but there's no bearing the impudence of the creature
in the mean time.
I would have gone out at the door, but her kinsman ran
and set his back against it. I expected bad treatment from
her pride, and violent temper; but this was worse than I
could have thought of. And I said to him, Sir, when my
master comes to know your rude behaviour, you will, may be,
have cause to repent it: and went and sat down in the window
again.
Another challenge, by gad! said he; but I am glad she
says her master!—You see, madam, she herself does not
believe she is married, and so has not been so much deluded
as you think for: And, coming to me with a most barbarous
air of insult, he said, kneeling on one knee before me, My
new aunt, your blessing or your curse, I care not which; but
quickly give me one or other, that I may not lose my dinner!
I gave him a most contemptuous look: Tinselled toy, said
I, (for he was laced all over), twenty or thirty years
hence, when you are at age, I shall know how to answer you
better; mean time, sport with your footman, and not with me!
and so I removed to another window nearer the door, and he
looked like a sad fool, as he is.
Beck, Beck, said my lady, this is not to be borne! Was
ever the like heard! Is my kinsman and Lord Davers's to be
thus used by such a slut? And was coming to me: And indeed I
began to be afraid; for I have but a poor heart, after all.
But Mrs. Jewkes hearing high words, came in again, with the
second course, and said, Pray your ladyship, don't so
discompose yourself. I am afraid this day's business will
make matters wider than ever between your good ladyship and
your brother: For my master doats upon madam.
Woman, said she, do thou be silent! Sure, I that was born
in this house, may have some privilege in it, without being
talked to by the saucy servants in it!
I beg pardon, madam, replied Mrs. Jewkes; and, turning to
me, said, Madam, my master will take it very ill if you make
him wait for you thus. So I rose to go out; but my lady
said, If it was only for that reason she shan't go.—And went
to the door and shut it, and said to Mrs. Jewkes, Woman,
don't come again till I call you; and coming to me, took my
hand, and said, Find your legs, miss, if you please.
I stood up, and she tapped my cheek! Oh, says she, that
scarlet glow shews what a rancorous little heart thou hast,
if thou durst shew it! but come this way; and so led me to
her chair: Stand there, said she, and answer me a few
questions while I dine, and I'll dismiss thee, till I call
thy impudent master to account; and then I'll have you face
to face, and all this mystery of iniquity shall be
unravelled; for, between you, I will come to the bottom of
it.
When she had sat down, I moved to the window on the other
side of the parlour, looking into the private garden; and
her woman said, Mrs. Pamela, don't make my lady angry. Stand
by her ladyship, as she bids you. Said I, Pray, good now,
let it suffice you to attend your lady's commands, and don't
lay yours upon me.—Your pardon, sweet Mrs. Pamela, said she.
Times are much altered with you, I'll assure you! said I,
Her ladyship has a very good plea to be free in the house
that she was born in; but you may as well confine your
freedoms to the house in which you had your breedings. Why,
how now, Mrs. Pamela, said she; since you provoke me to it,
I'll tell you a piece of my mind. Hush, hush, good woman,
said I, alluding to my lady's language to Mrs. Jewkes, my
lady wants not your assistance:—Besides, I can't scold!
The woman was ready to flutter with vexation; and Lord
Jackey laughed as if he would burst his sides: G—d d—n me,
Beck, said he, you'd better let her alone to my lady here
for she'll be too many for twenty such as you and I!—And
then he laughed again, and repeated—I can't scold, quoth-a!
but, by gad, miss, you can speak d——d spiteful words, I can
tell you that!—Poor Beck, poor Beck!—'Fore gad, she's quite
dumbfoundered!
Well, but Pamela, said my lady, come hither, and tell me
truly, Dost thou think thyself really married?—Said I, and
approached her chair, My good lady, I'll answer all your
commands, if you'll have patience with me, and not be so
angry as you are: But I can't bear to be used thus by this
gentleman, and your ladyship's woman. Child, said she, thou
art very impertinent to my kinsman; thou can'st not be civil
to me; and my ladyship's woman is much thy betters. But
that's not the thing!—Dost thou think thou art really
married?
I see, madam, said I, you are resolved not to be pleased
with any answer I shall return: If I should say, I am not,
then your ladyship will call me hard names, and, perhaps, I
should tell a fib. If I should say, I am, your ladyship will
ask, how I have the impudence to be so?—and will call it a
sham-marriage. I will, said she, be answered more directly.
Why, what, madam, does it signify what I think? Your
ladyship will believe as you please.
But can'st thou have the vanity, the pride, the folly,
said she, to think thyself actually married to my brother?
He is no fool, child; and libertine enough of conscience;
and thou art not the first in the list of his credulous
harlots.—Well, well, said I, (and was in a sad flutter,) as
I am easy, and pleased with my lot, pray, madam, let me
continue so, as long as I can. It will be time enough for me
to know the worst, when the worst comes. And if it should be
so bad, your ladyship should pity me, rather than thus
torment me before my time.
Well, said she, but dost not think I am concerned, that a
young wench, whom my poor dear mother loved so well, should
thus cast herself away, and suffer herself to be deluded and
undone, after such a noble stand as thou madst for so long a
time?
I think myself far from being deluded and undone, and am
as innocent and virtuous as ever I was in my life. Thou
liest, child, said she.
So your ladyship told me twice before.
She gave me a slap on the hand for this; and I made a low
courtesy, and said, I humbly thank your ladyship! but I
could not refrain tears: And added, Your dear brother,
madam, however, won't thank your ladyship for this usage of
me, though I do. Come a little nearer me, my dear, said she,
and thou shalt have a little more than that to tell him of,
if thou think'st thou hast not made mischief enough already
between a sister and brother. But, child, if he was here, I
would serve thee worse, and him too. I wish he was, said
I.—Dost thou threaten me, mischief-maker, and insolent as
thou art?
Now, pray, madam, said I, (but got to a little distance,)
be pleased to reflect upon all that you have said to me,
since I have had the honour, or rather misfortune, to come
into your presence; whether you have said one thing
befitting your ladyship's degree to me, even supposing I was
the wench and the creature you imagine me to be?—Come
hither, my pert dear, replied she, come but within my reach
for one moment, and I'll answer thee as thou deservest.
To be sure she meant to box my ears. But I should not be
worthy my happy lot if I could not shew some spirit.
When the cloth was taken away, I said, I suppose I may
now depart your presence, madam? I suppose not, said she.
Why, I'll lay thee a wager, child, thy stomach's too full to
eat, and so thou may'st fast till thy mannerly master comes
home.
Pray your ladyship, said her woman, let the poor girl sit
down at table with Mrs. Jewkes and me.—Said I, You are very
kind, Mrs. Worden; but times, as you said, are much altered
with me; and I have been of late so much honoured with
better company, that I can't stoop to yours.

Was ever such confidence! said my lady.—Poor Beck! poor
Beck! said her kinsman; why she beats you quite out of the
pit!—Will your ladyship, said I, be so good as to tell me
how long I am to tarry? For you'll please to see by that
letter, that I am obliged to attend my master's commands.
And so I gave her the dear gentleman's letter from Mr.
Carlton's, which I thought would make her use me better, as
she might judge by it of the honour done me by him. Ay, said
she, this is my worthy brother's hand. It is directed to
Mrs. Andrews. That's to you, I suppose, child? And so she
ran on, making remarks as she went along, in this manner:
My dearest PAMELA,—'Mighty well!'—I hope my not coming
home this night, will not frighten you!—'Vastly tender,
indeed!—And did it frighten you, child?'—You may believe I
can't help it. 'No, to be sure!—A person in thy way of life,
is more tenderly used than an honest wife. But mark the end
of it!'—I could have wished—'Pr'ythee, Jackey, mind
this,'—we—'mind the significant we,'—had not engaged to the
good neighbourhood, at Sir Simon's, for to-morrow
night.—'Why, does the good neighbourhood, and does Sir
Simon, permit thy visits, child? They shall have none of
mine, then, I'll assure them!'—But I am so desirous to set
out on Wednesday for the other house—'So, Jackey, but we
just nicked it, I find:'—that, as well as in return for the
civilities of so many good friends, who will be there on
purpose, I would not put it off.—'Now mind, Jackey.'—What I
beg of you—'Mind the wretch, that could use me and your
uncle as he has done; he is turned beggar to this
creature!'—I beg of you, therefore, my dear—'My dear!
there's for you!—I wish I may not be quite sick before I get
through.'—What I beg of you, therefore, my dear, [and then
she looked me full in the face,] is, that you will go in the
chariot to Sir Simon's, the sooner in the day the
better;—'Dear heart! and why so, when WE were not expected
till night? Why, pray observe the reason—Hem!' [said
she]—Because you will be diverted with the company;—'Mighty
kind, indeed!'—who all—'Jackey, Jackey, mind this,'—who all
so much admire you. 'Now he'd ha' been hanged before he
would have said so complaisant a thing, had he been married,
I'm sure!'—Very true, aunt, said he: A plain case
that!—[Thought I, that's hard upon poor matrimony, though I
hope my lady don't find it so. But I durst not speak
out.]—Who all so much admire you, [said she,] 'I must repeat
that—Pretty miss!—I wish thou wast as admirable for thy
virtue, as for that baby-face of thine!'—And I hope to join
you there by your tea-time in the afternoon!—'So, you're in
very good time, child, an hour or two hence, to answer all
your important pre-engagements!'—which will be better than
going home, and returning with you; as it will be six miles
difference to me; and I know the good company will excuse my
dress on this occasion.—'Very true; any dress is good
enough, I'm sure, for such company as admire thee, child,
for a companion, in thy ruined state!—Jackey, Jackey, mind,
mind, again! more fine things still!'—I count every hour of
this little absence for a day!—'There's for you! Let me
repeat it'—I count every hour of this little absence for a
day!—'Mind, too, the wit of the good man! One may see love
is a new thing to him. Here is a very tedious time gone
since he saw his deary; no less than, according to his
amorous calculation, a dozen days and nights, at least! and
yet, TEDIOUS as it is, it is but a LITTLE ABSENCE. Well
said, my good, accurate, and consistent brother!—But wise
men in love are always the greatest simpletons!—But now
cones the reason why this LITTLE ABSENCE, which, at the same
time, is SO GREAT an ABSENCE, is so tedious:'—FOR I am—'Ay,
now for it!'—with the UTMOST sincerity, my dearest love—'Out
upon DEAREST love! I shall never love the word again! Pray
bid your uncle never call me dearest love, Jackey!'—For ever
yours!—'But, brother, thou liest!—Thou knowest thou
dost.—And so, my good Lady Andrews, or what shall I call
you? Your dearest love will be for ever yours! And hast thou
the vanity to believe this?—But stay, here is a postscript.
The poor man knew not when to have done to his dearest
love.—He's sadly in for't, truly! Why, his dearest love, you
are mighty happy in such a lover!'—If you could go to dine
with them—'Cry you mercy, my dearest love, now comes the
pre-engagement!'—it will be a freedom that will be very
pleasing to them, and the more, as they don't expect it.
Well, so much for this kind letter! But you see you
cannot honour this admiring company with this little
expected, and, but in complaisance to his folly, I dare say,
little desired freedom. And I cannot forbear admiring you so
much myself, my dearest love, that I will not spare you at
all, this whole evening: For 'tis a little hard, if thy
master's sister may not be blest a little bit with thy
charming company.
So I found I had shewn her my letter to very little
purpose, and repented it several times, as she read
on.—Well, then, said I, I hope your ladyship will give me
leave to send my excuses to your good brother, and say, that
your ladyship is come, and is so fond of me, that you will
not let me leave you.—Pretty creature, said she; and wantest
thou thy good master to come, and quarrel with his sister on
thy account?—But thou shalt not stir from my presence; and I
would now ask thee, What it is thou meanest by shewing me
this letter?—Why, madam, said I, to shew your ladyship how I
was engaged for this day and evening.—And for nothing else?
said she. Why, I can't tell, madam, said I: But if you can
collect from it any other circumstances, I might hope I
should not be the worse treated.
I saw her eyes began to sparkle with passion: and she
took my hand, and said, grasping it very hard, I know,
confident creature, that thou shewedst it me to insult
me!—You shewed it me, to let me see, that he could be
civiller to a beggar born, than to me, or to my good Lord
Davers!—You shewed it me, as if you'd have me to be as
credulous a fool as yourself, to believe your marriage true,
when I know the whole trick of it, and have reason to
believe you do too; and you shewed it me, to upbraid me with
his stooping to such painted dirt, to the disgrace of a
family, ancient and untainted beyond most in the kingdom.
And now will I give thee one hundred guineas for one bold
word, that I may fell thee at my foot!
Was not this very dreadful! To be sure, I had better have
kept the letter from her. I was quite frightened!—And this
fearful menace, and her fiery eyes, and rageful countenance,
made me lose all my courage.—So I said, weeping, Good your
ladyship, pity me!—Indeed I am honest; indeed I am virtuous;
indeed I would not do a bad thing for the world!
Though I know, said she, the whole trick of thy pretended
marriage, and thy foolish ring here, and all the rest of the
wicked nonsense, yet I should not have patience with thee,
if thou shouldst but offer to let me know thy vanity prompts
thee to believe thou art married to my brother!—I could not
bear the thought!—So take care, Pamela; take care, beggarly
brat; take care.
Good madam, said I, spare my dear parents. They are
honest and industrious: they were once in a very creditable
way, and never were beggars. Misfortunes may attend any
body: And I can bear the cruellest imputations on myself,
because I know my innocence; but upon such honest,
industrious parents, who went through the greatest trials,
without being beholden to any thing but God's blessing, and
their own hard labour; I cannot bear reflection.
What! art thou setting up for a family, creature as thou
art! God give me patience with thee! I suppose my brother's
folly, and his wickedness, together, will, in a little
while, occasion a search at the heralds' office, to set out
thy wretched obscurity! Provoke me, I desire thou wilt! One
hundred guineas will I give thee, to say but thou thinkest
thou art married to my brother.
Your ladyship, I hope, won't kill me: And since nothing I
can say will please you, but your ladyship is resolved to
quarrel with me; since I must not say what I think, on one
hand nor another; whatever your ladyship designs by me, be
pleased to do, and let me depart your presence!
She gave me a slap on the hand, and reached to box my
ear; but Mrs. Jewkes hearkening without, and her woman too,
they both came in at that instant; and Mrs. Jewkes said,
pushing herself in between us; Your ladyship knows not what
you do! Indeed you don't! My master would never forgive me,
if I suffered, in his house, one he so dearly loves, to be
so used; and it must not be, though you are Lady Davers. Her
woman too interposed, and told her, I was not worth her
ladyship's anger. But she was like a person beside herself.
I offered to go out, and Mrs. Jewkes took my hand to lead
me out: But her kinsman set his back against the door, and
put his hand to his sword, and said, I should not go, till
his aunt permitted it. He drew it half-way, and I was so
terrified, that I cried out, Oh, the sword! the sword! and,
not knowing what I did, I ran to my lady herself, and
clasped my arms about her, forgetting, just then, how much
she was my enemy, and said, sinking on my knees, Defend me,
good your ladyship! the sword! the sword!—Mrs. Jewkes said,
Oh! my lady will fall into fits! But Lady Davers was herself
so startled at the matter being carried so far, that she did
not mind her words, and said, Jackey, don't draw your
sword!—You see, as great as her spirit is, she can't bear
that.
Come, said she, be comforted; he shan't frighten
you!—I'll try to overcome my anger, and will pity you. So,
wench, rise up, and don't be foolish. Mrs. Jewkes held her
salts to my nose, and I did not faint. And my lady said,
Mrs. Jewkes, if you would be forgiven, leave Pamela and me
by ourselves; and, Jackey, do you withdraw; only you, Beck,
stay.
So I sat down in the window, all in a sad fluster; for,
to be sure, I was sadly frightened.—Said her woman, You
should not sit in my lady's presence, Mrs. Pamela. Yes, let
her sit till she is a little recovered of her fright, said
my lady, and do you set my chair by her. And so she sat
over-against me, and said, To be sure, Pamela, you have been
very provoking with your tongue, to be sure you have, as
well upon my nephew, (who is a man of quality too,) as me.
And palliating her cruel usage, and beginning, I suppose, to
think herself she had carried it further than she could
answer it to her brother, she wanted to lay the fault upon
me. Own, said she, you have been very saucy; and beg my
pardon, and beg Jackey's pardon, and I will try to pity you.
For you are a sweet girl, after all; if you had but held
out, and been honest.
'Tis injurious to me, madam, said I, to imagine I am not
honest!—Said she, Have you not been a-bed with my brother?
tell me that. Your ladyship, replied I, asks your questions
in a strange way, and in strange words.
O! your delicacy is wounded, I suppose, by my plain
questions!—This niceness will soon leave you, wench: It
will, indeed. But answer me directly. Then your ladyship's
next question, said I, will be, Am I married? And you won't
bear my answer to that—and will beat me again.
I han't beat you yet; have I, Beck? said she. So you want
to make out a story, do you?—But, indeed, I can't bear thou
shouldst so much as think thou art my sister. I know the
whole trick of it; and so, 'tis my opinion, dost thou. It is
only thy little cunning, that it might look like a cloak to
thy yielding, and get better terms from him. Pr'ythee,
pr'ythee, wench, thou seest I know the world a
little;—almost as much at thirty-two, as thou dost at
sixteen.—Remember that!
I rose from the window, and walking to the other end of
the room, Beat me again, if you please, said I, but I must
tell your ladyship, I scorn your words, and am as much
married as your ladyship!
At that she ran to me; but her woman interposed again:
Let the vain wicked creature go from your presence, madam,
said she. She is not worthy to be in it. She will but vex
your ladyship. Stand away, Beck, said she. That's an
assertion that I would not take from my brother, I can't
bear it. As much married as I!—Is that to be borne? But if
the creature believes she is, madam, said her woman, she is
to be as much pitied for her credulity, as despised for her
vanity.
I was in hopes to have slipt out at the door; but she
caught hold of my gown, and pulled me back. Pray your
ladyship, said I, don't kill me!—I have done no harm.—But
she locked the door, and put the key in her pocket. So,
seeing Mrs. Jewkes before the window, I lifted up the sash,
and said, Mrs. Jewkes, I believe it would be best for the
chariot to go to your master, and let him know, that Lady
Davers is here; and I cannot leave her ladyship.
She was resolved to be displeased, let me say what I
would.
Said she, No, no; he'll then think, that I make the
creature my companion, and know not how to part with her. I
thought your ladyship, replied I, could not have taken
exceptions at this message. Thou knowest nothing, wench,
said she, of what belongs to people of condition: How
shouldst thou? Nor, thought I, do I desire it, at this rate.
What shall I say, madam? said I. Nothing at all, replied
she; let him expect his dearest love, and be disappointed;
it is but adding a few more hours, and he will make every
one a day, in his amorous account.—Mrs. Jewkes coming nearer
me, and my lady walking about the room, being then at the
end, I whispered, Let Robert stay at the elms; I'll have a
struggle for't by and by.
As much married as I! repeated she.—The insolence of the
creature!—And so she walked about the room, talking to
herself, to her woman, and now and then to me; but seeing I
could not please her, I thought I had better be silent. And
then it was, Am I not worthy an answer? If I speak, said I,
your ladyship is angry at me, though ever so respectfully;
if I do not, I cannot please: Would your ladyship tell me
but how I shall oblige you, and I would do it with all my
heart.
Confess the truth, said she, that thou art an undone
creature; hast been in bed with thy master; and art sorry
for it, and for the mischief thou hast occasioned between
him and me; and then I'll pity thee, and persuade him to
pack thee off, with a hundred or two of guineas; and some
honest farmer may take pity of thee, and patch up thy shame,
for the sake of the money; and if nobody will have thee,
thou must vow penitence, and be as humble as I once thought
thee.
I was quite sick at heart, at all this passionate
extravagance, and to be hindered from being where was the
desire of my soul, and afraid too of incurring my dear
master's displeasure; and, as I sat, I saw it was no hard
matter to get out of the window into the front yard, the
parlour being even with the yard, and so have a fair run for
it; and after I had seen my lady at the other end of the
room again, in her walks, having not pulled down the sash,
when I spoke to Mrs. Jewkes, I got upon the seat, and
whipped out in a minute, and ran away as hard as I could
drive, my lady calling after me to return, and her woman at
the other window: But two of her servants appearing at her
crying out, and she bidding them to stop me, I said, Touch
me at your peril, fellows! But their lady's commands would
have prevailed on them, had not Mr. Colbrand, who, it seems,
had been kindly ordered, by Mrs. Jewkes, to be within call,
when she saw how I was treated, come up, and put on one of
his deadly fierce looks, the only time, I thought, it ever
became him, and said, He would chine the man, that was his
word, who offered to touch his lady; and so he ran alongside
of me; and I heard my lady say, The creature flies like a
bird! And, indeed, Mr. Colbrand, with his huge strides,
could hardly keep pace with me; and I never stopped, till I
got to the chariot; and Robert had got down, seeing me
running at a distance, and held the door in his hand, with
the step ready down; and in I jumped, without touching the
step, saying, Drive me, drive me, as fast as you can, out of
my lady's reach! And he mounted; and Colbrand said, Don't be
frightened, madam; nobody shall hurt you.—And shut the door,
and away Robert drove; but I was quite out of breath, and
did not recover it, and my fright, all the way.
Mr. Colbrand was so kind, but I did not know it till the
chariot stopped at Sir Simon's, to step up behind the
carriage, lest, as he said, my lady should send after me;
and he told Mrs. Jewkes, when he got home, that he never saw
such a runner as me in his life.
When the chariot stopped, which was not till six o'clock,
so long did this cruel lady keep me, Miss Darnford ran out
to me: O madam, said she, ten times welcome! but you'll be
beat, I can tell you! for here has been Mr. B—— come these
two hours, and is very angry with you.
That's hard indeed, said I;—Indeed I can't afford it;—for
I hardly knew what I said, having not recovered my fright.
Let me sit down, miss, any where, said I; for I have been
sadly off. So I sat down, and was quite sick with the hurry
of my spirits, and leaned upon her arm.
Said she, Your lord and master came in very moody; and
when he had staid an hour, and you not come, he began to
fret, and said, He did not expect so little complaisance
from you. And he is now sat down, with great persuasion, to
a game at loo.—Come, you must make your appearance, lady
fair; for he is too sullen to attend you, I doubt.
You have no strangers, have you miss? said I.—Only two
women relations from Stamford, replied she, and an humble
servant of one of them.—Only all the world, miss! said
I.—What shall I do, if he be angry? I can't bear that.
Just as I had said so, came in Lady Darnford and Lady
Jones to chide me, as they said, for not coming sooner. And
before I could speak, came in my dear master. I ran to him.
How dy'e Pamela? said he; and saluting me, with a little
more formality than I could well bear.—I expected half a
word from me, when I was so complaisant to your choice,
would have determined you, and that you'd have been here to
dinner;—and the rather, as I made my request a reasonable
one, and what I thought would be agreeable to you. O dear
sir, said I, pray, pray, hear me, and you'll pity me, and
not be displeased! Mrs. Jewkes will tell you, that as soon
as I had your kind commands, I said, I would obey you, and
come to dinner with these good ladies; and so prepared
myself instantly, with all the pleasure in the world. Lady
Darnford and miss said I was their dear!—Look you, said
miss, did I not tell you, stately one, that something must
have happened? But, O these tyrants! these men!
Why, what hindered it, my dear? said he: give yourself
time; you seem out of breath!—O sir, said I, out of breath!
well I may!—For, just as I was ready to come away, who
should drive into the court-yard, but Lady Davers!—Lady
Davers! Nay, then, my sweet dear, said he, and saluted me
more tenderly, hast thou had a worse trial than I wish thee,
from one of the haughtiest women in England, though my
sister!—For, she too, my Pamela, was spoiled by my good
mother!—But have you seen her?
Yes, sir, said I, and more than seen her!—Why sure, said
he, she has not had the insolence to strike my girl!—Sir,
said I, but tell me you forgive me; for indeed I could not
come sooner; and these good ladies but excuse me; and I'll
tell you all another time; for to take up the good company's
attention now, will spoil their pleasantry, and be to them,
though more important to me, like the broken china you
cautioned me about.
That's a dear girl! said he; I see my hints are not
thrown away upon you; and I beg pardon for being angry with
you; and, for the future, will stay till I hear your
defence, before I judge you. Said Miss Darnford, This is a
little better! To own a fault is some reparation; and what
every lordly husband will not do. He said, But tell me, my
dear, did Lady Davers offer you any incivility? O sir,
replied I, she is your sister, and I must not tell you all;
but she has used me very severely! Did you tell her, said
he, you were married? Yes, sir, I did at last; but she will
have it 'tis a sham-marriage, and that I am a vile creature:
and she was ready to beat me, when I said so: for she could
not have patience, that I should be deemed her sister, as
she said.
How unlucky it was, replied he, I was not at home?—Why
did you not send to me here? Send, sir! I was kept prisoner
by force. They would not let me stir, or do you think I
would have been hindered from obeying you? Nay, I told them,
that I had a pre-engagement; but she ridiculed me, and said,
Waiting-maids talk of pre-engagements! And then I shewed her
your kind letter; and she made a thousand remarks upon it,
and made me wish I had not. In short, whatever I could do or
say, there was no pleasing her; and I was a creature and
wench, and all that was naught. But you must not be angry
with her on my account.
Well, but, said he, I suppose she hardly asked you to
dine with her; for she came before dinner, I presume, if it
was soon after you had received my letter! No, sir, dine
with my lady! no, indeed! Why, she would make me wait at
table upon her, with her woman, because she would not expose
herself and me before the men-servants; which you know, sir,
was very good of her ladyship.
Well, said he, but did you wait upon her? Would you have
had me, sir? said I.—Only, Pamela, replied he, if you did,
and knew not what belonged to your character, as my wife, I
shall be very angry with you. Sir, said I, I did not, but
refused it, out of consideration to the dignity you have
raised me to; else, sir, I could have waited on my knees
upon your sister.
Now, said he, you confirm my opinion of your prudence and
judgment. She is an insolent woman, and shall dearly repent
it. But, sir, she is to be excused, because she won't
believe I am indeed married; so don't be too angry at her
ladyship.
He said, Ladies, pray don't let us keep you from the
company; I'll only ask a question or two more, and attend
you. Said Lady Jones, I so much long to hear this story of
poor madam's persecution, that, if it was not improper, I
should be glad to stay. Miss Darnford would stay for the
same reason; my master saying, He had no secrets to ask; and
that it was kind of them to interest themselves in my
grievances.
But Lady Darnford went into the company, and told them
the cause of my detention; for, it seems, my dear master
loved me too well, to keep to himself the disappointment my
not being here to receive him, was to him; and they had all
given the two Misses Boroughs and Mr. Perry, the Stamford
guests, such a character of me, that they said they were
impatient to see me.
Said my master, But, Pamela, you said they and them: Who
had my sister with her besides her woman? Her nephew, sir,
and three footmen on horseback; and she and her woman were
in her chariot and six.
That's a sad coxcomb, said he: How did he behave to
you?—Not extraordinarily, sir; but I should not complain;
for I was even with him; because I thought I ought not to
bear with him as with my lady.
By Heaven! said he, if I knew he behaved unhandsomely to
my jewel, I'd send him home to his uncle without his ears.
Indeed, sir, returned I, I was as hard upon him as he was
upon me. Said he, 'Tis kind to say so; but I believe I shall
make them dearly repent their visit, if I find their
behaviour to call for my resentment.
But, sure, my dear, you might have got away when you went
to your own dinner? Indeed, sir, said I, her ladyship locked
me in, and would not let me stir.—So you ha'nt ate any
dinner? No, indeed, sir, nor had a stomach for any. My poor
dear, said he. But then, how got you away at last? O sir,
replied I, I jumped out of the parlour window, and ran away
to the chariot, which had waited for me several hours, by
the elm-walk, from the time of my lady's coming (for I was
just going, as I said); and Mr. Colbrand conducted me
through her servants, whom she called to, to stop me; and
was so kind to step behind the chariot, unknown to me, and
saw me safe here.
I'm sure, said he, these insolent creatures must have
treated you vilely. But tell me, what part did Mrs. Jewkes
act in this affair? A very kind part, sir, said I, in my
behalf; and I shall thank her for it. Sweet creature! said
he, thou lovest to speak well of every body; but I hope she
deserves it; for she knew you were married.—But come, we'll
now join the company, and try to forget all you have
suffered, for two or three hours, that we may not tire the
company with our concerns and resume the subject as we go
home: and you shall find I will do you justice, as I ought.
But you forgive me, sir, said I, and are not angry? Forgive
you, my dear! returned he—I hope you forgive me! I shall
never make you satisfaction for what you have suffered from
me, and for me! And with those words he led me into the
company.
He very kindly presented me to the two stranger ladies,
and the gentleman, and them to me: and Sir Simon, who was at
cards, rose from table, and saluted me: Adad! madam, said
he, I'm glad to see you here. What, it seems you have been a
prisoner! 'Twas well you was, or your spouse and I should
have sat in judgment upon you, and condemned you to a
fearful punishment for your first crime of laesae
majestatis: (I had this explained to me afterwards, as a
sort of treason against my liege lord and husband:) for we
husbands hereabouts, said he, are resolved to turn over a
new leaf with our wives, and your lord and master shall shew
us the way, I can tell you that. But I see by your eyes, my
sweet culprit, added he, and your complexion, you have had
sour sauce to your sweet meat.
Miss Darnford said, I think we are obliged to our sweet
guest, at last; for she was forced to jump out at a window
to come to us. Indeed! said Mrs. Peters;—and my master's
back being turned, says she, Lady Davers, when a maiden, was
always vastly passionate; but a very good lady when her
passion was over. And she'd make nothing of slapping her
maids about, and begging their pardons afterwards, if they
took it patiently; otherwise she used to say the creatures
were even with her.
Ay, said I, I have been a many creatures and wenches, and
I know not what; for these were the names she gave me. And I
thought I ought to act up to the part her dear brother has
given me; and so I have but just escaped a good cuffing.
Miss Boroughs said to her sister, as I overheard, but she
did not design I should, What a sweet creature is this! and
then she takes so little upon her, is so free, so easy, and
owns the honour done her, so obligingly! said Mr. Perry,
softly, The loveliest person I ever saw! Who could have the
heart to be angry with her one moment?
Says Miss Darnford, Here, my dearest neighbour, these
gentry are admiring you strangely; and Mr. Perry says, you
are the loveliest lady he ever saw; and he says it to his
own mistress's face too, I'll assure you!—Or else, says Miss
Boroughs, I should think he much flattered me.
O, madam, you are exceedingly obliging! but your kind
opinion ought to teach me humility, and to reverence so
generous a worth as can give a preference against yourself,
where it is so little due. Indeed, madam, said Miss Nanny
Boroughs, I love my sister well; but it would be a high
compliment to any lady, to be deemed worthy a second or
third place after you.
There is no answering such politeness, said I: I am sure
Lady Davers was very cruel to keep me from such company.
'Twas our loss, madam, says Miss Darnford. I'll allow it,
said I, in degree; for you have all been deprived, several
hours, of an humble admirer.
Mr. Perry said, I never before saw so young a lady shine
forth with such graces of mind and person. Alas! sir, said
I, my master coming up, mine is but a borrowed shine, like
that of the moon. Here is the sun, to whose fervent glow of
generosity I owe all the faint lustre, that your goodness is
pleased to look upon with so much kind distinction.
Mr. Perry was pleased to hold up his hands; and the
ladies looked upon one another. And my master said, hearing
part of the last sentence, What's the pretty subject, that
my Pamela is displaying so sweetly her talents upon?
Oh! sir, said Mr. Perry, I will pronounce you the
happiest man in England: and so said they all.
My master said, most generously, Thank ye, thank ye,
thank ye, all round, my dear friends. I know not your
subject; but if you believe me so, for a single instance of
this dear girl's goodness, what must I think myself, when
blessed with a thousand instances, and experiencing it in
every single act and word! I do assure you my Pamela's
person, all lovely as you see it, is far short of her mind:
That, indeed, first attracted my admiration, and made me her
lover: but they were the beauties of her mind, that made me
her husband; and proud, my sweet dear, said he, pressing my
hand, am I of that title.
Well, said Mr. Perry, very kindly and politely, excellent
as your lady is, I know not the gentleman that could deserve
her, but that one who could say such just and such fine
things.
I was all abashed; and took Miss Darnford's hand, and
said, Save me, dear miss, by your sweet example, from my
rising pride. But could I deserve half these kind things,
what a happy creature should I be! said Miss Darnford, You
deserve them all, indeed you do.
The greatest part of the company having sat down to loo,
my master being pressed, said he would take one game at
whist; but had rather be excused too, having been up all
night: and I asked how his friend did? We'll talk of that,
said he, another time; which, and his seriousness, made me
fear the poor gentleman was dead, as it proved.
We cast in, and Miss Boroughs and my master were
together, and Mr. Perry and I; and I had all four honours
the first time, and we were up at one deal. Said my master,
An honourable hand, Pamela, should go with an honourable
heart; but you'd not have been up, if a knave had not been
one. Whist, sir, said Mr. Perry, you know, was a court game
originally; and the knave, I suppose, signified always the
prime minister.
'Tis well, said my master, if now there is but one knave
in a court, out of four persons, take the court through.
The king and queen, sir, said Mr. Perry, can do no wrong,
you know. So there are two that must be good out of four;
and the ace seems too plain a card to mean much hurt.
We compliment the king, said my master, in that manner;
and 'tis well to do so, because there is something sacred in
the character. But yet, if force of example be considered,
it is going a great way; for certainly a good master makes a
good servant, generally speaking.
One thing, added he, I will say, in regard to the ace: I
have always looked upon that plain and honest looking card
in the light you do: and have considered whist as an English
game in its original; which has made me fonder of it than of
any other. For by the ace I have always thought the laws of
the land denoted; and as the ace is above the king or queen,
and wins them, I think the law should be thought so too;
though, may be, I shall be deemed a Whig for my opinion.
I shall never play whist, said Mr. Perry, without
thinking of this, and shall love the game the better for the
thought; though I am no party-man. Nor I, said my master;
for I think the distinctions of whig and tory odious; and
love the one or the other only as they are honest and worthy
men; and have never (nor never shall, hope) given a vote,
but according to what I thought was for the public good, let
either whig or tory propose it.
I wish, sir, replied Mr. Perry, all gentlemen in your
station would act so. If there was no undue influence, said
my master, I am willing to think so well of all mankind,
that I believe they generally would.
But you see, said he, by my Pamela's hand, when all the
court-cards get together, and are acted by one mind, the
game is usually turned accordingly: Though now and then,
too, it may be so circumstanced, that honours will do them
no good, and they are forced to depend altogether upon
tricks.
I thought this way of talking prettier than the game
itself. But I said, Though I have won the game, I hope I am
no trickster. No, said my master, God forbid but court-cards
should sometimes win with honour! But you see, for all that,
your game is as much owing to the knave as the king; and
you, my fair-one, lost no advantage, when it was put into
your power.
Else, sir, said I, I should not have done justice to my
partner. You are certainly right, Pamela, replied he; though
you thereby beat your husband. Sir, said I, you may be my
partner next, and I must do justice, you know. Well, said
he, always choose so worthy a friend, as chance has given
you for a partner, and I shall never find fault with you, do
what you will.
Mr. Perry said, You are very good to me, sir; and Miss
Boroughs, I observed, seemed pleased with the compliment to
her humble servant; by which I saw she esteemed him, as he
appears to deserve. Dear sir! said I, how much better is
this, than to be locked in by Lady Davers!
The supper was brought in sooner on my account, because I
had had no dinner; and there passed very agreeable
compliments on the occasion. Lady Darnford would help me
first, because I had so long fasted, as she said. Sir Simon
would have placed himself next me: And my master said, He
thought it was best, where there was an equal number of
ladies and gentlemen, that they should sit, intermingled,
that the gentlemen might be employed in helping and serving
the ladies. Lady Darnford said, She hoped Sir Simon would
not sit above any ladies at his own table especially. Well,
said he, I shall sit over-against her, however, and that's
as well.
My dearest sir could not keep his eyes off me, and seemed
generously delighted with all I did, and all I said; and
every one was pleased to see his kind and affectionate
behaviour to me.
Lady Jones brought up the discourse about Lady Davers
again; and my master said, I fear, Pamela, you have been
hardly used, more than you'll say. I know my sister's
passionate temper too well, to believe she could be
over-civil to you, especially as it happened so unluckily
that I was out. If, added he, she had no pique to you, my
dear, yet what has passed between her and me, has so
exasperated her, that I know she would have quarrelled with
my horse, if she had thought I valued it, and nobody else
was in her way. Dear sir, said I, don't say so of good Lady
Davers.
Why, my dear, said he, I know she came on purpose to
quarrel; and had she not found herself under a very violent
uneasiness, after what had passed between us, and my
treatment of her lord's letter, she would not have offered
to come near me. What sort of language had she for me,
Pamela? O sir, very good, only her well-mannered brother,
and such as that!
Only, said he, 'tis taking up the attention of the
company disagreeably, or I could tell you almost every word
she said. Lady Jones wished to hear a further account of my
lady's conduct, and most of the company joined with her,
particularly Mrs. Peters; who said, that as they knew the
story, and Lady Davers's temper, though she was very good in
the main, they could wish to be so agreeably entertained, if
he and I pleased; because they imagined I should have no
difficulties after this.
Tell me, then, Pamela, said he, did she lift up her hand
at you? Did she strike you? But I hope not! A little slap of
the hand, said I, or so.—Insolent woman! She did not, I
hope, offer to strike your face? Why, said I, I was a little
saucy once or twice; and she would have given me a cuff on
the ear, if her woman and Mrs. Jewkes had not interposed.
Why did you not come out at the door? Because, said I, her
ladyship sat in the chair against it, one while, and another
while locked it; else I offered several times to get away.
She knew I expected you here: You say, you shewed her my
letter to you? Yes, sir, said I; but I had better not; for
she as then more exasperated, and made strange comments upon
it. I doubt it not, said he; but, did she not see, by the
kind epithets in it, that there was no room to doubt of our
being married? O, sir, replied I, and made the company
smile, she said, For that very reason she was sure I was not
married.
That's like my sister! said he; exactly like her; and yet
she lives very happily herself: for her poor lord never
contradicts her. Indeed he dares not.
You were a great many wenches, were you not, my dear? for
that's a great word with her.—Yes, sir, said I, wenches and
creatures out of number; and worse than all that. What? tell
me, my dear. Sir, said I, I must not have you angry with
Lady Davers; while you are so good to me, 'tis all nothing;
only the trouble I have that I cannot be suffered to shew
how much I honoured her ladyship, as your sister.
Well, said he, you need not be afraid to tell me: I must
love her after all; though I shall not be pleased with her
on this occasion. I know it is her love for me, though thus
oddly expressed, that makes her so uneasy: and, after all,
she comes, I'm sure, to be reconciled to me; though it must
be through a good hearty quarrel first: for she can shew a
good deal of sunshine; but it must be always after a storm;
and I'll love her dearly, if she has not been, and will not
be, too hard upon my dearest.
Mr. Peters said, Sir, you are very good, and very kind; I
love to see this complaisance to your sister, though she be
in fault, so long as you can shew it with so much justice to
the sweetest innocence and merit in the world. By all that's
good, Mr. Peters, said he, I'd present my sister with a
thousand pounds, if she would kindly take my dear Pamela by
the hand, and wish her joy, and call her sister!—And yet I
should be unworthy of the dear creature that smiles upon me
there, if it was not principally for her sake, and the
pleasure it would give her, that I say this: for I will
never be thoroughly reconciled to my sister till she does;
for I most sincerely think, as to myself, that my dear wife,
there she sits, does me more honour in her new relation,
than she receives from me.
Sir, said I, I am overwhelmed with your goodness!—And my
eyes were filled with tears of joy and gratitude: and all
the company with one voice blessed him. And Lady Jones was
pleased to say, The behaviour of you two happy ones, to each
other, is the most edifying I ever knew. I am always
improved when I see you. How happy would every good lady be
with such a gentleman, and every good gentleman with such a
lady!—In short, you seem made for one another.
O madam, said I, you are so kind, so good to me, that I
know not how to thank you enough!—Said she, You deserve more
than I can express; for, to all that know your story, you
are a matchless person. You are an ornament to our sex and
your virtue, though Mr. B—— is so generous as he is, has met
with no more than its due reward. God long bless you
together!
You are, said my dearest sir, very good to me, madam, I
am sure. I have taken liberties in my former life, that
deserved not so much excellence. I have offended extremely,
by trials glorious to my Pamela, but disgraceful to me,
against a virtue that I now consider as almost sacred; and I
shall not think I deserve her, till I can bring my manners,
my sentiments, and my actions, to a conformity with her own.
In short, my Pamela, continued he, I want you to be nothing
but what you are, and have been. You cannot be better; and
if you could, it would be but filling me with despair to
attain the awful heights of virtue at which you have
arrived. Perhaps, added the dear gentleman, the scene I have
beheld within these twelve hours, has made me more serious
than otherwise I should have been: but I'll assure you,
before all this good company, I speak the sentiments of my
heart, and those not of this day only.
What a happy daughter is yours, O my dear father and
mother! I owe it all to God's grace, and to yours and my
good lady's instructions: And to these let me always look
back with grateful acknowledgments, that I may not impute to
myself, and be proud, my inexpressible happiness.
The company were so kindly pleased with our concern, and
my dear master's goodness, that he, observing their
indulgence, and being himself curious to know the further
particulars of what had passed between my lady and me,
repeated his question, What she had called me besides wench
and creature? And I said, My lady, supposing I was wicked,
lamented over me, very kindly, my depravity and fall, and
said, What a thousand pities it was, so much virtue, as she
was pleased to say, was so destroyed; and that I had
yielded, after so noble a stand! as she said.
Excuse me, gentlemen and ladies, said I! you know my
story, it seems; and I am commanded, by one who has a title
to all my obedience, to proceed.
They gave all of them bows of approbation, that they
might not interrupt me; and I continued my story—the
men-servants withdrawing, at a motion of Mr. B——, on my
looking towards them: and then, at Lady Darnford's coming
in, I proceeded.
I told her ladyship, that I was still innocent, and would
be so, and it was injurious to suppose me otherwise. Why,
tell me, wench, said she—But I think I must not tell you
what she said. Yes, do, said my master, to clear my sister;
we shall think it very bad else.
I held my hand before my face—Why, she said, Tell me,
wench, hast thou not been—hesitating—a very free creature
with thy master? That she said, or to that effect—And when I
said, She asked strange questions, and in strange words, she
ridiculed my delicacy, as she called it; and said, My
niceness would not last long. She said, I must know I was
not really married, that my ring was only a sham, and all
was my cunning to cloak my yielding, and get better terms.
She said, She knew the world as much at thirty-two, as I did
at sixteen; and bid me remember that.
I took the liberty to say, (but I got a good way off,)
that I scorned her ladyship's words, and was as much married
as her ladyship. And then I had certainly been cuffed, if
her woman had not interposed, and told her I was not worthy
her anger; and that I was as much to be pitied for my
credulity, as despised for my vanity.
My poor Pamela, said my master, this was too, too hard
upon you! O sir, said I, how much easier it was to me than
if it had been so!—That would have broken my heart
quite!—For then I should have deserved it all, and worse;
and these reproaches, added to my own guilt, would have made
me truly wretched!
Lady Darnford, at whose right-hand I sat, kissed me with
a kind of rapture, and called me a sweet exemplar for all my
sex. Mr. Peters said very handsome things; so did Mr. Perry
and Sir Simon, with tears in his eyes, said to my master,
Why, neighbour, neighbour, this is excellent, by my troth. I
believe there is something in virtue, that we had not well
considered. On my soul, there has been but one angel come
down for these thousand years, and you have got her.
Well, my dearest, said my master, pray proceed with your
story until, we have done supper, since the ladies seem
pleased with it. Why, sir, said I, her ladyship went on in
the same manner; but said, one time, (and held me by the
hand,) she would give me an hundred guineas for one
provoking word; or, if I would but say I believed myself
married, that she might fell me at her foot: But, sir, you
must not be angry with her ladyship. She called me painted
dirt, baby-face, waiting-maid, beggar's brat, and
beggar-born; but I said, As long as I knew my innocence, I
was easy in every thing, but to have my dear parents abused.
They were never beggars, nor beholden to any body; nor to
any thing but God's grace and their own labour; that they
once lived in credit; that misfortunes might befall any
body; and that I could not bear they should be treated so
undeservedly.
Then her ladyship said, Ay, she supposed my master's
folly would make us set up for a family, and that the
heralds' office would shortly be searched to make it out.
Exactly my sister again! said he. So you could not please
her any way?
No, indeed, sir. When she commanded me to fill her a
glass of wine, and would not let her woman do it, she asked,
If I was above it? I then said, If to attend your ladyship
at table, or even kneel at your feet, was required of me, I
would most gladly do it, were I only the person you think
me. But if it be to triumph over one, who has received
honours which she thinks require from her another part, that
she may not be utterly unworthy of them, I must say, I
cannot do it. This quite astonished her ladyship; and a
little before, her kinsman brought me the bottle and glass,
and required me to fill it for my lady, at her command, and
called himself my deputy: And I said, 'Tis in a good hand;
help my lady yourself. So, sir, added I, you see I could be
a little saucy upon occasion.
You please me well, my Pamela, said he. This was quite
right. But proceed.
Her ladyship said, She was astonished! adding, She
supposed I would have her look upon me as her brother's
wife: And asked me, What, in the name of impudence,
possessed me, to dare to look upon myself as her sister? And
I said, That was a question better became her most worthy
brother to answer, than me. And then I thought I should have
had her ladyship upon me; but her woman interposed.
I afterwards told Mrs. Jewkes, at the window, that since
I was hindered from going to you, I believed it was best to
let Robert go with the chariot, and say, Lady Davers was
come, and I could not leave her ladyship. But this did not
please; and I thought it would too; for she said, No, no,
he'll think I make the creature my companion, and know not
how to part with her.
Exactly, said he, my sister again.
And she said, I knew nothing what belonged to people of
condition; how should I?—What shall I say, madam? said I.
Nothing at all, answered she; let him expect his dearest
love, alluding to your kind epithet in your letter, and be
disappointed; it is but adding a few more hours to this
heavy absence, and every one will become a day in his
amorous account.
So, to be short, I saw nothing was to be done; and I
feared, sir, you would wonder at my stay, and be angry; and
I watched my opportunity, till my lady, who was walking
about the room, was at the further end; and the parlour
being a ground-floor, in a manner, I jumped out at the
window, and ran for it.
Her ladyship called after me; so did her woman; and I
heard her say, I flew like a bird; and she called two of her
servants in sight to stop me; but I said, Touch me at your
peril, fellows! And Mr. Colbrand, having been planted at
hand by Mrs. Jewkes, (who was very good in the whole affair,
and incurred her ladyship's displeasure, once or twice, by
taking my part,) seeing how I was used, put on a fierce
look, cocked his hat with one hand, and put t'other on his
sword, and said, he would chine the man who offered to touch
his lady. And so he ran alongside of me, and could hardly
keep pace with me:—And here, my dear sir, concluded I, I am,
at yours and the good company's service.
They seemed highly pleased with my relation; and my
master said, he was glad Mrs. Jewkes behaved so well, as
also Mr. Colbrand. Yes, sir, said I: when Mrs. Jewkes
interposed once, her ladyship said, It was hard, she, who
was born in that house, could not have some privilege in it,
without being talked to by the saucy servants. And she
called her another time fat-face, and womaned her most
violently.
Well, said my master, I am glad, my dear, you have had
such an escape. My sister was always passionate, as Mrs.
Peters knows: And my poor mother had enough to do with us
both. For we neither of us wanted spirit: and when I was a
boy, I never came home from school or college for a few
days, but though we longed to see one another before, yet
ere the first day was over, we had a quarrel; for she, being
seven years older than I, was always for domineering over
me, and I could not bear it. And I used, on her frequently
quarrelling with the maids, and being always at a word and a
blow, to call her Captain Bab; for her name is Barbara. And
when my Lord Davers courted her, my poor mother has made up
quarrels between them three times in a day; and I used to
tell her, she would certainly beat her husband, marry whom
she would, if he did not beat her first, and break her
spirit.
Yet has she, continued he, very good qualities. She was a
dutiful daughter, is a good wife; she is bountiful to her
servants, firm in her friendships, charitable to the poor,
and, I believe, never any sister better loved a brother,
than she me: and yet she always loved to vex and tease me;
and as I would bear a resentment longer than she, she'd be
one moment the most provoking creature in the world, and the
next would do any thing to be forgiven; and I have made her,
when she was the aggressor, follow me all over the house and
garden to be upon good terms with me.
But this case piques her more, because she had found out
a match for me in the family of a person of quality, and had
set her heart upon bringing it to effect, and had even
proceeded far in it, without my knowledge, and brought me
into the lady's company, unknowing of her design. But I was
then averse to matrimony upon any terms; and was angry at
her proceeding in it so far without my privity or
encouragement: And she cannot, for this reason, bear the
thoughts of my being now married, and to her mother's
waiting-maid too, as she reminds my dear Pamela, when I had
declined her proposal with the daughter of a noble earl.
This is the whole case, said he; and, allowing for the
pride and violence of her spirit, and that she knows not, as
I do, the transcendent excellencies of my dear Pamela, and
that all her view, in her own conception, is mine and the
family honour, she is a little to be allowed for: Though,
never fear, my Pamela, but that I, who never had a struggle
with her, wherein I did not get the better, will do you
justice, and myself too.
This account of Lady Davers pleased every body, and was
far from being to her ladyship's disadvantage in the main;
and I would do any thing in the world to have the honour to
be in her good graces: Yet I fear it will not be easily, if
at all, effected. But I will proceed.
After supper, nothing would serve Miss Darnford and Miss
Boroughs, but we must have a dance; and Mr. Peters, who
plays a good fiddle, urged it forward. My dear master,
though in a riding-dress, took out Miss Boroughs.
Sir Simon, for a man of his years, danced well, and took
me out; but put on one of his free jokes, that I was fitter
to dance with a younger man; and he would have it, (though I
had not danced since my dear lady's death to signify, except
once or twice to please Mrs. Jervis, and, indeed, believed
all my dancing days over,) that as my master and I were the
best dancers, we should dance once together, before folks,
as the odd gentleman said; and my dear sir was pleased to
oblige him: And afterwards danced with Miss Darnford, who
has much more skill and judgment than I; though they
compliment me with an easier shape and air.
We left the company with great difficulty at about
eleven, my dear master having been up all night before, and
we being at the greatest distance from home; though they
seemed inclinable not to break up so soon, as they were
neighbours; and the ladies said, They longed to hear what
would be the end of Lady Davers's interview with her
brother.
My master said, He feared we must not now think of going
next day to Bedfordshire, as we had intended; and perhaps
might see them again. And so we took leave, and set out for
home; where we arrived not till twelve o'clock; and found
Lady Davers had gone to bed about eleven, wanting sadly that
we should come home first; but so did not I.
Mrs. Jewkes told us, That my lady was sadly fretted that
I had got away so; and seemed a little apprehensive of what
I would say of the usage I had received from her. She asked
Mrs. Jewkes, if she thought I was really married? And Mrs.
Jewkes telling her yes, she fell into a passion, and said,
Begone, bold woman, I cannot bear thee! See not my face till
I send for thee! Thou hast been very impudent to me once or
twice to-day already, and art now worse than ever. She said,
She would not have told her ladyship, if she had not asked
her; and was sorry she had offended.
She sent for her at supper time: Said she, I have another
question to ask thee, woman, and tell me yes, if thou
darest. Was ever any thing so odd?—Why then, said Mrs.
Jewkes, I will say No, before your ladyship speaks.—My
master laughed: Poor woman! said he.—She called her
insolent, and assurance; and said, Begone, bold woman as
thou art!—but come hither. Dost thou know if that young
harlot is to be with my brother to-night?
She said she knew not what to answer, because she had
threatened her if she said yes. But at last my lady said, I
will know the bottom of this iniquity. I suppose they won't
have so much impudence to be together while I'm in the
house; but I dare say they have been bed-fellows.
Said she, I will lie to-night in the room I was born in;
so get that bed ready. That room being our bedchamber, Mrs.
Jewkes, after some hesitation, replied, Madam, my master
lies there, and has the key. I believe, woman, said she,
thou tellest me a story. Indeed, madam, said she, he does;
and has some papers there he will let nobody see; for Mrs.
Jewkes said, she feared she would beat her if she went up,
and found by my clothes, and some of my master's, how it
was.
So she said, I will then lie in the best room, as it is
called; and Jackey shall lie in the little green room
adjoining to it. Has thy master got the keys of those?—No,
madam, said Mrs. Jewkes: I will order them to be made ready
for your ladyship.
And where dost thou lay they pursy sides? said she. Up
two pair of stairs, madam, next the garden. And where lies
the young harlotry? continued she. Sometimes with me, madam,
said she. And sometimes with thy virtuous master, I suppose?
said my lady.—Ha, woman! what sayest thou? I must not speak,
said Mrs. Jewkes. Well, thou mayest go, said she; but thou
hast the air of a secret keeper of that sort I dare say
thoul't set the good work forward most cordially. Poor Mrs.
Jewkes, said my master, and laughed most heartily.
This talk we had whilst we were undressing. So she and
her woman lay together in the room my master lay in before I
was happy.
I said, Dear sir, pray, in the morning let me lock myself
up in the closet, as soon as you rise; and not be called
down for ever so much; for I am afraid to see her ladyship:
And I will employ myself about my journal, while these
things are in my head. Don't be afraid, my dear, said he: Am
not I with you?
Mrs. Jewkes pitied me for what I had undergone in the
day; and I said, We won't make the worst of it to my dear
master, because we won't exasperate where we would
reconcile: but, added I, I am much obliged to you, Mrs.
Jewkes, and I thank you. Said my master, I hope she did not
beat your lady, Mrs. Jewkes? Not much, sir, said she; but I
believe I saved my lady once: Yet, added she, I was most
vexed at the young lord. Ay, Mrs. Jewkes, said my master,
let me know his behaviour. I can chastise him, though I
cannot my sister, who is a woman; let me therefore know the
part he acted.
Nothing, my dear sir, said I, but impertinence, if I may
so say, and foolishness, that was very provoking; but I
spared him not; and so there is no room, sir, for your
anger. No, sir, said Mrs. Jewkes, nothing else indeed.
How was her woman? said my master. Pretty impertinent,
replied Mrs. Jewkes, as ladies' women will be. But, said I,
you know she saved me once or twice. Very true, madam,
returned Mrs. Jewkes. And she said to me at table, that you
were a sweet creature; she never saw your equal; but that
you had a spirit; and she was sorry you answered her lady
so, who never bore so much contradiction before. I told her,
added Mrs. Jewkes, that if I was in your ladyship's place, I
should have taken much more upon me, and that you were all
sweetness. And she said, I was got over, she saw.
Tuesday morning, the sixth of my happiness.
My master had said to Mrs. Jewkes, that he should not
rise till eight or nine, as he had sat up all the night
before: but it seems, my lady, knowing he usually rose about
six, got up soon after that hour; raised her woman and her
nephew; having a whimsical scheme in her head, to try to
find whether we were in bed together: And, about half an
hour after six, she rapped at our chamber door.
My master was waked at the noise, and asked, Who was
there? Open the door, said she; open it this minute! I said,
clinging about his neck, Dear, dear sir, pray, pray don't!—O
save me, save me! Don't fear, Pamela, said he. The woman's
mad, I believe.
But he called out; Who are you? What do you want?—You
know my voice well enough, said she:—I will come in.—Pray,
sir, said I, don't let her ladyship in.—Don't be frightened,
my dear, said he; she thinks we are not married, and are
afraid to be found a-bed together. I'll let her in; but she
shan't come near my dearest.
So he slipt out of bed, and putting on some of his
clothes, and gown and slippers, he said, What bold body dare
disturb my repose thus? and opened the door. In rushed she:
I'll see your wickedness, said she, I will! In vain shall
you think to hide it from me.—What should I hide? said he.
How dare you set a foot into my house, after the usage I
have received from you?—I had covered myself over head and
ears, and trembled every joint. He looked, and 'spied her
woman and kinsman in the room, she crying out, Bear witness,
Jackey; bear witness, Beck; the creature is now in his bed!
And not seeing the young gentleman before, who was at the
feet of the bed, he said, How now, sir? What's your business
in this apartment? Begone this moment!—And he went away
directly.
Beck, said my lady, you see the creature is in his bed. I
do, madam, answered she. My master came to me, and said, Ay,
look, Beck, and bear witness: Here is my Pamela!—My dear
angel, my lovely creature, don't be afraid; look up, and see
how frantickly this woman of quality behaves.
At that, I just peeped, and saw my lady, who could not
bear this, coming to me; and she said, Wicked abandoned
wretch! Vile brother, to brave me thus! I'll tear the
creature out of bed before your face, and expose you both as
you deserve.
At that he took her in his arms, as if she had been
nothing; and carrying her out of the room, she cried out,
Beck! Beck! help me, Beck! the wretch is going to fling me
down stairs! Her woman ran to him, and said, Good sir, for
Heaven's sake do no violence to my lady! Her ladyship has
been ill all night.
He sat her down in the chamber she lay in, and she could
not speak for passion. Take care of your lady, said he; and
when she has rendered herself more worthy of my attention,
I'll see her; till then, at her peril, and yours too, come
not near my apartment. And so he came to me, and, with all
the sweet soothing words in the world, pacified my fears,
and gave me leave to go to write in my closet, as soon as my
fright was over, and to stay there till things were more
calm. And so he dressed himself, and went out of the
chamber, permitting me, at my desire, to fasten the door
after him.
At breakfast-time my master tapped at the door, and I
said, Who's there? I, my dearest, said he. Oh! then, replied
I, I will open it with pleasure. I had written on a good
deal; but I put it by, when I ran to the door. I would have
locked it again, when he was in; but he said, Am not I here?
Don't be afraid. Said he, Will you come down to breakfast,
my love? O no, dear sir, said I; be pleased to excuse me!
said he, I cannot bear the look of it, that the mistress of
my house should breakfast in her closet, as if she durst not
come down, and I at home!—O, dearest sir, replied I, pray
pass that over, for my sake; and don't let my presence
aggravate your sister, for a kind punctilio! Then, my dear,
said he, I will breakfast with you here. No, pray, dear sir,
answered I, breakfast with your sister. That, my dear,
replied he, will too much gratify her pride, and look like a
slight to you.—Dear sir, said I, your goodness is too great,
for me to want punctilious proofs of it. Pray oblige her
ladyship. She is your guest surely, sir, you may be freest
with your dutiful wife!
She is a strange woman, said he: How I pity her!—She has
thrown herself into a violent fit of the colic, through
passion: And is but now, her woman says, a little easier. I
hope, sir, said I, when you carried her ladyship out, you
did not hurt her. No, replied he, I love her too well. I set
her down in the apartment she had chosen: and she but now
desires to see me, and that I will breakfast with her, or
refuses to touch any thing. But, if my dearest please, I
will insist it shall be with you at the same time.
O, no, no, dear sir! said I; I should not forgive myself,
if I did. I would on my knees beg her ladyship's goodness to
me, now I am in your presence; though I thought I ought to
carry it a little stiff when you were absent, for the sake
of the honour you have done me. And, dear sir, if my deepest
humility will please, permit me to shew it.
You shall do nothing, returned he, unworthy of my wife,
to please the proud woman!—But I will, however, permit you
to breakfast by yourself this once, as I have not seen her
since I have used her in so barbarous a manner, as I
understand she exclaims I have; and as she will not eat any
thing, unless I give her my company.—So he saluted me, and
withdrew; and I locked the door after him again for fear.
Mrs. Jewkes soon after rapped at the door. Who's there?
said I. Only I, madam. So I opened the door. 'Tis a sad
thing, madam, said she, you should be so much afraid in your
own house. She brought me some chocolate and toast; and I
asked her about my lady's behaviour. She said, she would not
suffer any body to attend but her woman, because she would
not be heard what she had to say; but she believed, she
said, her master was very angry with the young lord, as she
called her kinsman; for, as she passed by the door, she
heard him say, in a high tone, I hope, sir, you did not
forget what belongs to the character you assume; or to that
effect.
About one o'clock my master came up again, and he said,
Will you come down to dinner, Pamela, when I send for you?
Whatever you command, sir, I must do. But my lady won't
desire to see me. No matter whether she will or no. But I
will not suffer, that she shall prescribe her insolent will
to my wife, and in your own house too.—I will, by my
tenderness to you, mortify her pride; and it cannot be done
so well as to her face.
Dearest sir, said I, pray indulge me, and let me dine
here by myself. It will make my lady but more
inveterate.—Said he, I have told her we are married. She is
out of all patience about it, and yet pretends not to
believe it. Upon that I tell her, Then she shall have it her
own way, and that I am not. And what has she to do with it
either way? She has scolded and begged, commanded and
prayed, blessed me, and cursed me, by turns, twenty times in
these few hours. And I have sometimes soothed her, sometimes
raged; and at last left her, and took a turn in the garden
for an hour to compose myself, because you should not see
how the foolish woman has ruffled me; and just now I came
out, seeing her coming in.
Just as he had said so, I cried, Oh! my lady, my lady!
for I heard her voice in the chamber, saying, Brother,
brother, one word with you—stopping in sight of the closet
where I was. He stepped out, and she went up to the window
that looks towards the garden, and said, Mean fool that I
am, to follow you up and down the house in this manner,
though I am shunned and avoided by you! You a brother!—You a
barbarian! Is it possible we could be born of one mother?
Why, said he, do you charge me with a conduct to you,
that you bring upon yourself?—Is it not surprising that you
should take the liberty with me, that the dear mother you
have named never gave you an example for to any of her
relations?—Was it not sufficient, that I was insolently
taken to task by you in your letters, but my retirements
must be invaded? My house insulted? And, if I have one
person dearer to me than another, that that person must be
singled out for an object of your violence?
Ay, said she, that one person is the thing!—But though I
came with a resolution to be temperate, and to expostulate
with you on your avoiding me so unkindly, yet cannot I have
patience to look upon that bed in which I was born, and to
be made the guilty scene of your wickedness with such a——
Hush! said he, I charge you! call not the dear girl by
any name unworthy of her. You know not, as I told you, her
excellence; and I desire you'll not repeat the freedoms you
have taken below.
She stamped with her foot, and said, God give me
patience! So much contempt to a sister that loves you so
well; and so much tenderness to a vile——
He put his hand before her mouth: Be silent, said he,
once more, I charge you! You know not the innocence you
abuse so freely. I ought not, neither will I bear it.
She sat down and fanned herself, and burst into tears,
and such sobs of grief, or rather passion, that grieved me
to hear; and I sat and trembled sadly.
He walked about the room in great anger; and at last
said, Let me ask you, Lady Davers, why I am thus insolently
to be called to account by you? Am I not independent? Am I
not of age? Am I not at liberty to please myself?—Would to
God, that, instead of a woman, and my sister, any man
breathing had dared, whatever were his relation under that
of a father, to give himself half the airs you have
done!—Why did you not send on this accursed errand your
lord, who could write me such a letter as no gentleman
should write, nor any gentleman tamely receive? He should
have seen the difference.
We all know, said she, that, since your Italian duel, you
have commenced a bravo; and all your airs breathe as
strongly of the manslayer as of the libertine. This, said
he, I will bear; for I have no reason to be ashamed of that
duel, nor the cause of it; since it was to save a friend,
and because it is levelled at myself only: but suffer not
your tongue to take too great a liberty with my Pamela.
She interrupted him in a violent burst of passion. If I
bear this, said she, I can bear any thing!—O the little
strumpet!—He interrupted her then, and said wrathfully,
Begone, rageful woman! begone this moment from my presence!
Leave my house this instant!—I renounce you, and all
relation to you! and never more let me see your face, or
call me brother! And took her by the hand to lead her out.
She laid hold of the curtains of the window, and said, I
will not go! You shall not force me from you thus
ignominiously in the wretch's hearing, and suffer her to
triumph over me in your barbarous treatment of me.
Not considering any thing, I ran out of the closet, and
threw myself at my dear master's feet, as he held her hand,
in order to lead her out; and I said, Dearest sir, let me
beg, that no act of unkindness, for my sake, pass between so
worthy and so near relations. Dear, dear madam, said I, and
clasped her knees, pardon and excuse the unhappy cause of
all this evil; on my knees I beg your ladyship to receive me
to your grace and favour, and you shall find me incapable of
any triumph but in your ladyship's goodness to me.
Creature, said she, art thou to beg an excuse for me?—Art
thou to implore my forgiveness? Is it to thee I am to owe
the favour, that I am not cast headlong from my brother's
presence? Begone to thy corner, wench! begone, I say, lest
thy paramour kill me for trampling thee under my foot!
Rise, my dear Pamela, said my master; rise, dear life of
my life; and expose not so much worthiness to the ungrateful
scorn of so violent a spirit. And so he led me to my closet
again, and there I sat and wept.
Her woman came up, just as he had led me to my closet,
and was returning to her lady; and she very humbly said,
Excuse my intrusion, good sir!—I hope I may come to my lady.
Yes, Mrs. Worden, said he, you may come in; and pray take
your lady down stairs with you, for fear I should too much
forget what belongs either to my sister or myself!
I began to think (seeing her ladyship so outrageous with
her brother) what a happy escape I had had the day before,
though hardly enough used in conscience too, as I thought.
Her woman begged her ladyship to walk down; and she said,
Beck, seest thou that bed? That was the bed that I was born
in; and yet that was the bed thou sawest, as well as I, the
wicked Pamela in, this morning, and this brother of mine
just risen from her!
True, said he; you both saw it, and it is my pride that
you could see it. 'Tis my bridal bed; and 'tis abominable
that the happiness I knew before you came hither, should be
so barbarously interrupted.
Swear to me but, thou bold wretch! said she, swear to me,
that Pamela Andrews is really and truly thy lawful wife,
without sham, without deceit, without double-meaning; and I
know what I have to say!
I'll humour you for once, said he; and then swore a
solemn oath that I was. And, said he, did I not tell you so
at first?
I cannot yet believe you, said she; because, in this
particular, I had rather have called you knave than
fool.—Provoke me not too much, said he; for, if I should as
much forget myself as you have done, you'd have no more of a
brother in me, than I have a sister in you.
Who married you? said she: tell me that! Was it not a
broken attorney in a parson's habit? Tell me truly, in the
wench's hearing. When she's undeceived, she'll know how to
behave herself better! Thank God, thought I, it is not so.
No, said he; and I'll tell you, that I bless God, I
abhorred that project, before it was brought to bear: and
Mr. Williams married us.—Nay then, said she—but answer me
another question or two, I beseech you: Who gave her away?
Parson Peters, said he. Where was the ceremony performed? In
my little chapel, which you may see, as it was put in order
on purpose.
Now, said she, I begin to fear there is something in it!
But who was present? said she. Methinks, replied he, I look
like a fine puppy, to suffer myself to be thus interrogated
by an insolent sister: but, if you must know, Mrs. Jewkes
was present. O the procuress! said she: But nobody else?
Yes, said he, all my heart and soul!
Wretch! said she; and what would thy father and mother
have said, had they lived to this day? Their consents,
replied he, I should have thought it my duty to ask; but not
yours, madam.
Suppose, said she, I had married my father's groom! what
would you have said to that?—I could not have behaved worse,
replied he, than you have done. And would you not have
thought, said she, I had deserved it.
Said he, Does your pride let you see no difference in the
case you put? None at all, said she. Where can the
difference be between a beggar's son married by a lady, or a
beggar's daughter made a gentleman's wife?
Then I'll tell you, replied he; the difference is, a man
ennobles the woman he takes, be she who she will; and adopts
her into his own rank, be it what it will: but a woman,
though ever so nobly born, debases herself by a mean
marriage, and descends from her own rank to his she stoops
to.
When the royal family of Stuart allied itself into the
low family of Hyde, (comparatively low, I mean,) did any
body scruple to call the lady, Royal Highness, and Duchess
of York? And did any body think her daughters, the late
Queen Mary and Queen Anne, less royal for that?
When the broken-fortuned peer goes into the city to marry
a rich tradesman's daughter, be he duke or earl, does not
his consort immediately become ennobled by his choice? and
who scruples to call her lady, duchess, or countess?
But when a duchess or countess dowager descends to mingle
with a person of obscure birth, does she not then degrade
herself? and is she not effectually degraded? And will any
duchess or countess rank with her?
Now, Lady Davers, do you not see a difference between my
marrying my dear mother's beloved and deserving
waiting-maid, with a million of excellencies about her, and
such graces of mind and person as would adorn any
distinction; and your marrying a sordid groom, whose
constant train of education, conversation, and
opportunities, could possibly give him no other merit, than
that which must proceed from the vilest, lowest taste, in
his sordid dignifier?
O the wretch! said she, how he finds excuses to palliate
his meanness!
Again, said he, let me observe to you, Lady Davers, When
a duke marries a private person, is he not still her head,
by virtue of being her husband? But, when a lady descends to
marry a groom, is not the groom her head, being her husband?
And does not the difference strike you? For what lady of
quality ought to respect another, who has made so sordid a
choice, and set a groom above her? For, would not that be to
put that groom upon a par with themselves?—Call this
palliation, or what you will; but if you see not the
difference, you are blind; and a very unfit judge for
yourself, much more unfit to be a censurer of me.
I'd have you, said she, publish your fine reasons to the
world, and they will be sweet encouragements to all the
young gentlemen who read them to cast themselves away on the
servant-wenches in their families.
Not at all, Lady Davers, replied he: For, if any young
gentleman stays till he finds such a person as my Pamela, so
enriched with the beauties of person and mind, so well
accomplished, and so fitted to adorn the degree she is
raised to, he will stand as easily acquitted, as I shall be
to all the world that sees her, except there be many more
Lady Davers than I apprehend can possibly be met with.
And so, returned she, you say you are actually and really
married, honestly, or rather foolishly married, to this
slut?
I am, indeed, says he, if you presume to call her so! And
why should I not, if I please? Who is there ought to
contradict me? Whom have I hurt by it?—Have I not an estate,
free and independent?—Am I likely to be beholden to you, or
any of my relations? And why, when I have a sufficiency in
my own single hands, should I scruple to make a woman
equally happy, who has all I want? For beauty, virtue,
prudence, and generosity too, I will tell you, she has more
than any lady I ever saw. Yes, Lady Davers, she has all
these naturally; they are born with her; and a few years'
education, with her genius, has done more for her, than a
whole life has done for others.
No more, no more, I beseech you, said she; thou
surfeitest me, honest man! with thy weak folly. Thou art
worse than an idolater; thou hast made a graven image, and
thou fallest down and worshippest the works of thy own
hands; and, Jeroboam-like, wouldst have every body else bow
down before thy calf!
Well said, Lady Davers! Whenever your passion suffers you
to descend to witticism; 'tis almost over with you. But let
me tell you, though I myself worship this sweet creature,
that you call such names, I want nobody else to do it; and
should be glad you had not intruded upon me, to interrupt me
in the course of our mutual happiness.
Well said, well said, my kind, my well-mannered brother!
said she. I shall, after this, very little interrupt your
mutual happiness, I'll assure you. I thought you a gentleman
once, and prided myself in my brother: But I'll say now with
the burial service, Ashes to ashes, and dirt to dirt!
Ay, said he, Lady Davers, and there we must all end at
last; you with all your pride, and I with my plentiful
fortune, must come to it; and then where will be your
distinction? Let me tell you, except you and I both mend our
manners, though you have been no duellist, no libertine, as
you call me, this amiable girl, whom your vanity and folly
so much despise, will out-soar us both, infinitely out-soar
us; and he who judges best, will give the preference where
due, without regard to birth or fortune.
Egregious preacher! said she: What, my brother already
turned Puritan!—See what marriage and repentance may bring a
man to! I heartily congratulate this change!—Well, said she,
(and came towards me, and I trembled to see her coming; but
her brother followed to observe her, and I stood up at her
approach, and she said,) give me thy hand, Mrs. Pamela, Mrs.
Andrews, Mrs. what shall I call thee?—Thou hast done wonders
in a little time; thou hast not only made a rake a husband
but thou hast made a rake a preacher! But take care, added
she, after all, in ironical anger, and tapped me on the
neck, take care that thy vanity begins not where his ends;
and that thou callest not thyself my sister.
She shall, I hope, Lady Davers, said he, when she can
make as great a convert of you from pride, as she has of me,
from libertinism.
Mrs. Jewkes just then came up, and said dinner was ready.
Come, my Pamela, said my dear master; you desired to be
excused from breakfasting with us; but I hope you'll give
Lady Davers and me your company to dinner.
How dare you insult me thus? said my lady.—How dare you,
said he, insult me by your conduct in my own house, after I
have told you I am married? How dare you think of staying
here one moment, and refuse my wife the honours that belong
to her as such?
Merciful God! said she, give me patience! and held her
hand to her forehead.
Pray, sir, dear sir, said I, excuse me, don't vex my
lady:—Be silent, my dear love, said he; you see already what
you have got by your sweet condescension. You have thrown
yourself at her feet, and, insolent as she is, she has
threatened to trample upon you. She'll ask you, presently,
if she is to owe her excuse to your interposition? and yet
nothing else can make her forgiven.
Poor lady, she could not bear this; and, as if she was
discomposed, she ran to her poor grieved woman, and took
hold of her hand, and said, Lead me down, lead me down,
Beck! Let us instantly quit this house, this cursed house,
that once I took pleasure in! Order the fellows to get
ready, and I will never see it, nor its owner, more. And
away she went down stairs, in a great hurry. And the
servants were ordered to make ready for their departure.
I saw my master was troubled, and I went to him, and
said, Pray, dear sir, follow my lady down, and pacify her.
'Tis her love to you.—Poor woman! said he, I am concerned
for her! But I insist upon your coming down, since things
are gone so far. Her pride will get new strength else, and
we shall be all to begin again.
Dearest, dear sir, said I, excuse my going down this
once! Indeed, my dear, I won't, replied he. What! shall it
be said, that my sister shall scare my wife from my table,
and I present?—No, I have borne too much already; and so
have you: And I charge you come down when I send for you.
He departed, saying these words, and I durst not dispute;
for I saw he was determined. And there is as much majesty as
goodness in him, as I have often had reason to observe;
though never more than on the present occasion with his
sister. Her ladyship instantly put on her hood and gloves,
and her woman tied up a handkerchief full of things; for her
principal matters were not unpacked; and her coachman got
her chariot ready, and her footmen their horses; and she
appeared resolved to go. But her kinsman and Mr. Colbrand
had taken a turn together, somewhere; and she would not come
in, but sat fretting on a seat in the fore-yard, with her
woman by her; and, at last, said to one of the footmen, Do
you, James, stay to attend my nephew; and we'll take the
road we came.
Mrs. Jewkes went to her ladyship, and said, Your ladyship
will be pleased to stay dinner; 'tis just coming upon table?
No, said she, I have enough of this house; I have indeed.
But give my service to your master, and I wish him happier
than he has made me.
He had sent for me down, and I came, though unwillingly,
and the cloth was laid in the parlour I had jumped out of;
and there was my master walking about it. Mrs. Jewkes came
in, and asked, if he pleased to have dinner brought in? for
my lady would not come in, but desired her service, and
wished him happier than he had made her. He, seeing her at
the window, when he went to that side of the room, all ready
to go, stept out to her, and said, Lady Davers, if I thought
you would not be hardened, rather than softened, by my
civility, I would ask you to walk in; and, at least, let
your kinsman and servants dine before they go. She wept, and
turned her face from him, to hide it. He took her hand, and
said, Come, sister, let me prevail upon you: Walk in. No,
said she, don't ask me.—I wish I could hate you, as much as
you hate me!—You do, said he, and a great deal more, I'll
assure you; or else you'd not vex me as you do.—Come, pray
walk in. Don't ask me, said she. Her kinsman just then
returned: Why, madam, said he, your ladyship won't go till
you have dined, I hope. No, Jackey, said she, I can't stay;
I'm an intruder here, it seems!—Think, said my master, of
the occasion you gave for that word. Your violent passions
are the only intruders! Lay them aside, and never sister was
dearer to a brother. Don't say such another word, said she,
I beseech you; for I am too easy to forgive you any thing
for one kind word!—You shall have one hundred, said he, nay,
ten thousand, if they will do, my dear sister. And, kissing
her, he added, Pray give me your hand. John, said he, put up
the horses; you are all as welcome to me, for all your
lady's angry with me, as at any inn you can put up at. Come,
Mr. H——, said he, lead your aunt in; for she won't permit
that honour to me.
This quite overcame her; and she said, giving her brother
her hand, Yes, I will, and you shall lead me any where! and
kissed him. But don't think, said she, I can forgive you
neither. And so he led her into the parlour where I was.
But, said she, why do you lead me to this wench? 'Tis my
wife, my dear sister; and if you will not love her, yet
don't forget common civilities to her, for your own sake.
Pray, madam, said her kinsman, since your brother is
pleased to own his marriage, we must not forget common
civilities, as Mr. B—— says. And, sir, added he, permit me
to wish you joy. Thank you, sir, said he. And may I? said
he, looking at me. Yes, sir, replied my master. So he
saluted me, very complaisantly; and said, I vow to Gad,
madam, I did not know this yesterday; and if I was guilty of
a fault, I beg your pardon.
My lady said, Thou'rt a good-natured foolish fellow; thou
might'st have saved this nonsensical parade, till I had
given thee leave. Why, aunt, said he, if they are actually
married, there's no help for it; and we must not make
mischief between man and wife.
But brother, said she, do you think I'll sit at table
with the creature? No contemptuous names, I beseech you,
Lady Davers! I tell you she is really my wife; and I must be
a villain to suffer her to be ill used. She has no protector
but me; and, if you will permit her, she will always love
and honour you.—Indeed, indeed I will, madam, said I.
I cannot, I won't sit down at table with her, said she:
Pamela, I hope thou dost not think I will?—Indeed, madam,
said I, if your good brother will permit it, I will attend
your chair all the time you dine, to shew my veneration for
your ladyship, as the sister of my kind protector. See, said
he, her condition has not altered her; but I cannot permit
in her a conduct unworthy of my wife; and I hope my sister
will not expect it neither.
Let her leave the room, replied she, if I must stay.
Indeed you are out of the way, aunt, said her kinsman; that
is not right, as things stand. Said my master, No, madam,
that must not be; but, if it must be so, we'll have two
tables; you and your nephew shall sit at one, and my wife
and I at the other: and then see what a figure your
unreasonable punctilio will make you cut.—She seemed
irresolute, and he placed her at the table; the first
course, which was fish, being brought in. Where, said she to
me, would'st thou presume to sit? Would'st have me give
place to thee too, wench?—Come, come, said my master, I'll
put that out of dispute; and so set himself down by her
ladyship, at the upper end of the table, and placed me at
his left hand. Excuse me, my dear, said he; this once excuse
me!—Oh! your cursed complaisance, said she, to such a——.
Hush, sister! hush! said he: I will not bear to hear her
spoken slightly of! 'Tis enough, that, to oblige your
violent and indecent caprice, you make me compromise with
you thus.
Come, sir, added he, pray take your place next your
gentle aunt!—Beck, said she, do you sit down by Pamela
there, since it must be so; we'll be hail fellow all! With
all my heart, replied my master; I have so much honour for
all the sex, that I would not have the meanest person of it
stand, while I sit, had I been to have made the custom. Mrs.
Worden, pray sit down. Sir, said she, I hope I shall know my
place better.
My lady sat considering; and then, lifting up her hands,
said, Lord! what will this world come to?—To nothing but
what's very good, replied my master, if such spirits as Lady
Davers's do but take the rule of it. Shall I help you,
sister, to some of the carp? Help your beloved! said she.
That's kind! said he.—Now, that's my good Lady Davers! Here,
my love, let me help you, since my sister desires it.—Mighty
well, returned she, mighty well!—But sat on one side,
turning from me, as it were.
Dear aunt, said her kinsman, let's see you buss and be
friends: since 'tis so, what signifies it? Hold thy fool's
tongue! said she: Is thy tone so soon turned since
yesterday? said my master, I hope nothing affronting was
offered yesterday to my wife, in her own house. She hit him
a good smart slap on the shoulder: Take that, impudent
brother said she. I'll wife you, and in her own house! She
seemed half afraid: but he, in very good humour, kissed her,
and said, I thank you, sister, I thank you. But I have not
had a blow from you before for some time!
'Fore gad, said her kinsman, 'tis very kind of you to
take it so well. Her ladyship is as good a woman as ever
lived; but I've had many a cuff from her myself.
I won't put it up neither, said my master, except you'll
assure me you have seen her serve her lord so.
I pressed my foot to his, and said, softly, Don't, dear
sir!—What! said she, is the creature begging me off from
insult? If his manners won't keep him from outraging me, I
won't owe his forebearance to thee, wench.
Said my master, and put some fish on my lady's plate,
Well does Lady Davers use the word insult!—But, come, let me
see you eat one mouthful, and I'll forgive you; and he put
the knife in one of her hands, and the fork in the other. As
I hope to live, said he, I cannot bear this silly
childishness, for nothing at all! I am quite ashamed of it.
She put a little bit to her mouth, but laid it down in
her plate again: I cannot eat, said she; I cannot swallow,
I'm sure. It will certainly choak me. He had forbid his
menservants to come in, that they might not behold the scene
he expected; and rose from table himself, and filled a glass
of wine, her woman offering, and her kinsman rising, to do
it. Mean-time, his seat between us being vacant, she turned
to me: How now, confidence, said she, darest thou sit next
me? Why dost thou not rise, and take the glass from thy
property?
Sit still, my dear, said he; I'll help you both. But I
arose; for I was afraid of a good cuff; and said, Pray, sir,
let me help my lady. So you shall, replied he, when she's in
a humour to receive it as she ought. Sister, said he, with a
glass in his hand, pray drink; you'll perhaps eat a little
bit of something then. Is this to insult me? said she.—No,
really, returned he: but to incite you to eat; for you'll be
sick for want of it.
She took the glass, and said, God forgive you, wicked
wretch, for your usage of me this day!—This is a little as
it used to be!—I once had your love;—and now it is changed;
and for whom? that vexes me! And wept so, she was forced to
set down the glass.
You don't do well, said he. You neither treat me like
your brother nor a gentleman; and if you would suffer me, I
would love you as well as ever.—But for a woman of sense and
understanding, and a fine-bred woman, as I once thought my
sister, you act quite a childish part. Come, added he, and
held the glass to her lips, let your brother, that you once
loved, prevail on you to drink this glass of wine.—She then
drank it. He kissed her, and said, Oh! how passion deforms
the noblest minds! You have lost a good deal of that
loveliness that used to adorn my sister. And let me persuade
you to compose yourself, and be my sister again!—For Lady
Davers is, indeed, a fine woman; and has a presence as
majestic for a lady, as her dear brother has for a
gentleman.
He then sat down between us again, and said, when the
second course came in, Let Abraham come in and wait. I
touched his toe again; but he minded it not; and I saw he
was right; for her ladyship began to recollect herself, and
did not behave half so ill before the servants, as she had
done; and helped herself with some little freedom; but she
could not forbear a strong sigh and a sob now and then. She
called for a glass of the same wine she had drank before.
Said he, Shall I help you again, Lady Davers?—and rose, at
the same time, and went to the sideboard, and filled her a
glass. Indeed, said she, I love to be soothed by my
brother!—Your health, sir!
Said my master to me, with great sweetness, My dear, now
I'm up, I'll fill for you!—I must serve both sisters alike!
She looked at the servant, as if he were a little check upon
her, and said to my master, How now, sir!—Not that you know
of. He whispered her, Don't shew any contempt before my
servants to one I have so deservedly made their mistress.
Consider, 'tis done.—Ay, said she, that's the thing that
kills me.
He gave me a glass: My good lady's health, sir, said
I.—That won't do, said she, leaning towards me, softly: and
was going to say wench, or creature, or some such word. And
my master, seeing Abraham look towards her, her eyes being
red and swelled, said, Indeed, sister, I would not vex
myself about it, if I was you. About what? said she. Why,
replied he, about your lord's not coming down, as he had
promised. He sat down, and she tapped him on the shoulder:
Ah! wicked one, said she, nor will that do neither!—Why, to
be sure, added he, it would vex a lady of your sense and
merit to be slighted, if it was so; but I am sure my lord
loves you, as well as you love him; and you know not what
may have happened.
She shook her head, and said, That's like your art!—This
makes one amazed you should be so caught!—Who, my lord
caught! said he: No, no! he'll have more wit than so! But I
never heard you were jealous before. Nor, said he, have you
any reason to think so now!—Honest friend, you need not
wait, said she; my woman will help us to what we want. Yes,
let him, replied he. Abraham, fill me a glass. Come, said my
master, Lord Davers to you, madam: I hope he'll take care he
is not found out!—You're very provoking, brother, said she.
I wish you were as good as Lord Davers.—But don't carry your
jest too far. Well, said he, 'tis a tender point, I own.
I've done.
By these kind managements the dinner passed over better
than I expected. And when the servants were withdrawn, my
master said, still keeping his place between us, I have a
question to ask you, Lady Davers, and that is, If you'll
bear me company to Bedfordshire? I was intending to set out
thither to-morrow, but I'll tarry your pleasure, if you'll
go with me.
Is thy wife, as thou callest her, to go along with thee,
friend? said she. Yes, to be sure, answered he, my dear
Quaker sister; and took her hand, and smiled. And would'st
have me parade it with her on the road?—Hey?—And make one to
grace her retinue?—Hey? Tell me how thoud'st chalk it out,
if I would do as thou would'st have me, honest friend?
He clasped his arms about her, and kissed her: You are a
dear saucy sister, said he; but I must love you!—Why, I'll
tell you how I'd have it. Here shall you, and my
Pamela—Leave out my, I desire you, if you'd have me sit
patiently. No, replied he, I can't do that. Here shall you,
and my Pamela, go together in your chariot, if you please;
and she will then appear as one of your retinue; and your
nephew and I will sometimes ride, and sometimes go into my
chariot, to your woman.
Should'st thou like this, creature? said she to me.—If
your ladyship think it not too great an honour for me,
madam, said I. Yes, replied she, but my ladyship does think
it would be too great an honour.
Now I think of it, said he, this must not be neither;
for, without you'd give her the hand in your own chariot, my
wife would be thought your woman, and that must not be. Why,
that would, may be, said she, be the only inducement for me
to bear her near me, in my chariot.—But, how then?—Why then,
when we came home, we'd get Lord Davers to come to us, and
stay a month or two.
And what if he was to come?—Why I would have you, as I
know you have a good fancy, give Pamela your judgment on
some patterns I expect from London, for clothes.—Provoking
wretch! said she; now I wish I may keep my hands to myself.
I don't say it to provoke you, said he, nor ought it to do
so. But when I tell you I am married, is it not a
consequence that we must have new clothes?
Hast thou any more of these obliging things to say to me,
friend? said she. I will make you a present, returned he,
worth your acceptance, if you will grace us with your
company at church, when we make our appearance.—Take that,
said she, if I die for it, wretch that thou art! and was
going to hit him a great slap; but he held her hand. Her
kinsman said, Dear aunt, I wonder at you! Why, all these are
things of course.
I begged leave to withdraw; and, as I went out, my good
master said, There's a person! There's a shape! There's a
sweetness! O, Lady Davers! were you a man, you would doat on
her, as I do. Yes, said the naughty lady, so I should, for
my harlot, but not for my wife. I turned, on this, and said,
Indeed your ladyship is cruel; and well may gentlemen take
liberties, when ladies of honour say such things! And I
wept, and added, Your ladyship's inference, if your good
brother was not the most generous of men, would make me very
unhappy.
No fear, wench; no fear, said she; thou'lt hold him as
long as any body can, I see that!—Poor Sally Godfrey never
had half the interest in him, I'll assure you.
Stay, my Pamela, said he, in a passion; stay, when I bid
you. You have now heard two vile charges upon me!—I love you
with such a true affection, that I ought to say something
before this malicious accuser, that you may not think your
consummate virtue linked to so black a villain.
Her nephew seemed uneasy, and blamed her much; and I came
back, but trembled as I stood; and he set me down, and said,
taking my hand, I have been accused, my dear, as a dueller,
and now as a profligate, in another sense; and there was a
time I should not have received these imputations with so
much concern as I now do, when I would wish, by degrees, by
a conformity of my manners to your virtue, to shew every one
the force your example has upon me. But this briefly is the
case of the first.
I had a friend, who had been basely attempted to be
assassinated by bravoes, hired by a man of title in Italy,
who, like many other persons of title, had no honour; and,
at Padua, I had the fortune to disarm one of these bravoes
in my friend's defence, and made him confess his employer;
and him, I own, I challenged. At Sienna we met, and he died
in a month after, of a fever; but, I hope, not occasioned by
the slight wounds he had received from me; though I was
obliged to leave Italy upon it, sooner than I intended,
because of his numerous relations, who looked upon me as the
cause of his death; though I pacified them by a letter I
wrote them from Inspruck, acquainting them with the baseness
of the deceased: and they followed me not to Munich, as they
intended.
This is one of the good-natured hints that might shock
your sweetness, on reflecting that you are yoked with a
murderer. The other—Nay, brother, said she, say no more.
'Tis your own fault if you go further. She shall know it
all, said he; and I defy the utmost stretch of your malice.
When I was at college, I was well received by a widow
lady, who had several daughters, and but small fortunes to
give them; and the old lady set one of them (a deserving
good girl she was,) to draw me into marriage with her, for
the sake of the fortune I was heir to; and contrived many
opportunities to bring us and leave us together. I was not
then of age; and the young lady, not half so artful as her
mother, yielded to my addresses before the mother's plot
could be ripened, and so utterly disappointed it. This, my
Pamela, is the Sally Godfrey, this malicious woman, with the
worst intentions, has informed you of. And whatever other
liberties I may have taken, (for perhaps some more I have,
which, had she known, you had heard of, as well as this,) I
desire Heaven will only forgive me, till I revive its
vengeance by the like offences, in injury to my Pamela.
And now, my dear, you may withdraw; for this worthy
sister of mine has said all the bad she knows of me; and
what, at a proper opportunity, when I could have convinced
you, that they were not my boast, but my concern, I should
have acquainted you with myself; for I am not fond of being
thought better than I am: though I hope, from the hour I
devoted myself to so much virtue, to that of my death, my
conduct shall be irreproachable.
She was greatly moved at this, and the noble manner in
which the dear gentleman owned and repented of his faults;
and gushed out into tears, and said, No, don't yet go,
Pamela, I beseech you. My passion has carried me too far, a
great deal; and, coming to me, she shook my hand, and said,
You must stay to hear me beg his pardon; and so took his
hand.—But, to my concern, (for I was grieved for her
ladyship's grief,) he burst from her; and went out of the
parlour into the garden in a violent rage, that made me
tremble. Her ladyship sat down, and leaned her head against
my bosom, and made my neck wet with her tears, holding me by
the hands; and I wept for company.—Her kinsman walked up and
down the parlour in a sad fret; and going out afterwards, he
came in, and said, Mr. B—— has ordered his chariot to be got
ready, and won't be spoken to by any body. Where is he? said
she.—Walking in the garden till it is ready, replied he.
Well, said she, I have indeed gone too far. I was
bewitched! And now, said she, malicious as he calls me, will
he not forgive me for a twelvemonth: for I tell you, Pamela,
if ever you offend, he will not easily forgive. I was all
delighted, though sad, to see her ladyship so good to me.
Will you venture, said she, to accompany me to him?—Dare you
follow a lion in his retreats?—I'll attend your ladyship,
said I, wherever you command. Well, wench, said she; Pamela,
I mean; thou art very good in the main!—I should have loved
thee as well as my mother did—if—but 'tis all over now!
Indeed you should not have married my brother! But come, I
must love him! Let's find him out! And yet will he use me
worse than a dog!—I should not, added she, have so much
exasperated him: for, whenever I have, I have always had the
worst of it. He knows I love him!
In this manner her ladyship talked to me, leaning on my
arm, and walking into the garden. I saw he was still in a
tumult, as it were; and he took another walk to avoid us.
She called after him, and said, Brother, brother, let me
speak to you!—One word with you! And as we made haste
towards him, and came near to him; I desire, said he, that
you'll not oppress me more with your follies, and your
violence. I have borne too much with you, and I will vow for
a twelvemonth, from this day—Hush, said she, don't vow, I
beg you for too well will you keep it, I know by experience,
if you do. You see, said she, I stoop to ask Pamela to be my
advocate. Sure that will pacify you!
Indeed, said he, I desire to see neither of you, on such
an occasion; and let me only be left to myself, for I will
not be intruded upon thus; and was going away.—But, said
she, One word first, I desire.—If you'll forgive me, I'll
forgive you.—What, said the dear man, haughtily, will you
forgive me?—Why, said she, for she saw him too angry to
mention his marriage, as a subject that required her
pardon—I will forgive you all your bad usage of me this day.
I will be serious with you, sister, said he: I wish you
most sincerely well; but let us, from this time, study so
much one another's quiet, as never to come near one another
more. Never? said she.—And can you desire this? barbarous
brother! can you?—I can, I do, said he; and I have nothing
to do, but to hide from you, not a brother, but a murderer,
and a profligate, unworthy of your relation; and let me be
consigned to penitence for my past evils: A penitence,
however, that shall not be broken in upon by so violent an
accuser.
Pamela, said he, and made me tremble, How dare you
approach me, without leave, when you see me thus
disturbed?—Never, for the future, come near me, when I am in
these tumults, unless I send for you.
Dear sir! said I—Leave me, interrupted he. I will set out
for Bedfordshire this moment! What! sir, said I, without
me?—What have I done? You have too meanly, said he, for my
wife, stooped to this furious sister of mine; and, till I
can recollect, I am not pleased with you: But Colbrand shall
attend you, and two other of my servants; and Mrs. Jewkes
shall wait upon you part of the way: And I hope you'll find
me in a better disposition to receive you there, than I am
at parting with you here.
Had I not hoped, that this was partly put on to
intimidate my lady, I believe I could not have borne it: But
it was grievous to me; for I saw he was most sincerely in a
passion.
I was afraid, said she, he would be angry at you, as well
as me; for well do I know his unreasonable violence, when he
is moved. But one word, sir, said she; Pardon Pamela, if you
won't me; for she has committed no offence, but that of
good-nature to me, and at my request. I will be gone myself,
directly as I was about to do, had you not prevented me.
I prevented you, said he, through love; but you have
strung me for it, through hatred. But as for my Pamela, I
know, besides the present moment, I cannot be angry with
her; and therefore I desire her never to see me, on such
occasions, till I can see her in the temper I ought to be
in, when so much sweetness approaches me. 'Tis therefore I
say, my dearest, leave me now.
But, sir, said I, must I leave you, and let you go to
Bedfordshire without me? Oh, dear sir, how can I?—Said my
lady, You may go to-morrow, both of you, as you had
designed; and I will go away this afternoon: And, since I
cannot be forgiven, will try to forget I have a brother.
May I, sir, said I, beg all your anger on myself, and to
be reconciled to your good sister? Presuming Pamela! replied
he, and made me start; Art thou then so hardy, so well able
to sustain a displeasure, which of all things, I expected
from thy affection, and thy tenderness, thou would'st have
wished to avoid?—Now, said he, and took my hand, and, as it
were, tossed it from him, begone from my presence, and
reflect upon what you have said to me!
I was so frightened, (for then I saw he took amiss what I
said,) that I took hold of his knees, as he was turning from
me; and I said, Forgive me, good sir! you see I am not so
hardy! I cannot bear your displeasure! And was ready to
sink.
His sister said, Only forgive Pamela; 'tis all I
ask—You'll break her spirit quite!—You'll carry your passion
as much too far as I have done!—I need not say, said he, how
well I love her; but she must not intrude upon me at such
times as these!—I had intended, as soon as I could have
quelled, by my reason, the tumults you had caused by your
violence, to have come in, and taken such a leave of you
both, as might become a husband, and a brother: But she has,
unbidden, broke in upon me, and must take the consequence of
a passion, which, when raised, is as uncontrollable as your
own.
Said she, Did I not love you so well, as sister never
loved a brother, I should not have given you all this
trouble. And did I not, said he, love you better than you
are resolved to deserve, I should be indifferent to all you
say. But this last instance, after the duelling story (which
you would not have mentioned, had you not known it is always
matter of concern for me to think upon), of poor Sally
Godfrey, is a piece of spite and meanness, that I can
renounce you my blood for.
Well, said she, I am convinced it was wrong. I am ashamed
of it myself. 'Twas poor, 'twas mean, 'twas unworthy of your
sister: And 'tis for this reason I stoop to follow you, to
beg your pardon, and even to procure one for my advocate,
who I thought had some interest in you, if I might have
believed your own professions to her; which now I shall
begin to think made purposely to insult me.
I care not what you think!—After the meanness you have
been guilty of, I can only look upon you with pity: For,
indeed, you have fallen very low with me.
'Tis plain I have, said she. But I'll begone.—And so,
brother, let me call you for this once! God bless you! And
Pamela, said her ladyship, God bless you! and kissed me, and
wept.
I durst say no more: And my lady turning from him, he
said, Your sex is the d—-l! how strangely can you
discompose, calm, and turn, as you please, us poor
weathercocks of men! Your last kind blessing to my Pamela I
cannot stand! Kiss but each other again. And then he took
both our hands, and joined them; and my lady saluting me
again, with tears on both sides, he put his kind arms about
each of our waists, and saluted us with great affection,
saying, Now, God bless you both, the two dearest creatures I
have in the world!
Well, said she, you will quite forget my fault about
Miss—He stopt her before she could speak the name, and said,
For ever forget it!—And, Pamela, I'll forgive you too, if
you don't again make my displeasure so light a thing to you,
as you did just now.
Said my lady, She did not make your displeasure a light
thing to her; but the heavier it was, the higher compliment
she made me, that she would bear it all, rather than not see
you and me reconciled. No matter for that, said he: It was
either an absence of thought, or a slight by implication, at
least, that my niceness could not bear from her tenderness:
For looked it not presuming, that she could stand my
displeasure, or was sure of making her terms when she
pleased? Which, fond as I am of her, I assure her, will not
be always, in wilful faults, in her power.
Nay, said my lady, I can tell you, Pamela, you have a
gentleman here in my brother; and you may expect such
treatment from him, as that character, and his known good
sense and breeding, will always oblige him to shew: But if
you offend, the Lord have mercy upon you!—You see how it is
by poor me!—And yet I never knew him to forgive so soon.
I am sure, said I, I will take care as much as I can; for
I have been frightened out of my wits, and had offended,
before I knew where I was.
So happily did this storm blow over; and my lady was
quite subdued and pacified.
When we came out of the garden, his chariot was ready;
and he said, Well, sister, I had most assuredly gone away
towards my other house, if things had not taken this happy
turn; and, if you please, instead of it, you and I will take
an airing: And pray, my dear, said he to me, bid Mrs. Jewkes
order supper by eight o'clock, and we shall then join you.
Sir, added he, to her nephew, will you take your horse
and escort us? I will, said he: and am glad, at my soul, to
see you all so good friends.
So my dear lord and master handed my lady into his
chariot, and her kinsman and his servants rode after them
and I went up to my closet to ruminate on these things. And,
foolish thing that I am, this poor Miss Sally Godfrey runs
into my head!—How soon the name and quality of a wife gives
one privileges, in one's own account!—Yet, methinks, I want
to know more about her; for, is it not strange, that I, who
lived years in the family, should have heard nothing of
this? But I was so constantly with my lady, that I might the
less hear of it; for she, I dare say, never knew it, or she
would have told me.
But I dare not ask him about the poor lady.—Yet I wonder
what became of her! Whether she be living? And whether any
thing came of it?—May be I shall hear full soon enough!—But
I hope not to any bad purpose.
As to the other unhappy case, I know it was talked of,
that in his travels, before I was taken into the family
long, he had one or two broils; and, from a youth, he was
always remarkable for courage, and is reckoned a great
master of his sword. God grant he may never be put to use
it! and that he may be always preserved in honour and
safety!
About seven o'clock my master sent word, that he would
have me not expect him to supper; for that he, and my lady
his sister, and nephew, were prevailed upon to stay with
Lady Jones; and that Lady Darnford, and Mr. Peters's family,
had promised to meet them there. I was glad they did not
send for me; and the rather, as I hoped those good families
being my friends, would confirm my lady a little in my
favour; and so I followed my writing closely.
About eleven o'clock they returned. I had but just come
down, having tired myself with my pen, and was sitting
talking with Mrs. Jewkes and Mrs. Worden, whom I would,
though unwillingly on their sides, make sit down, which they
did over against me. Mrs. Worden asked my pardon, in a good
deal of confusion, for the part she had acted against me;
saying, That things had been very differently represented to
her; and that she little thought I was married, and that she
was behaving so rudely to the lady of the house.
I said, I took nothing amiss; and very freely forgave
her; and hoped my new condition would not make me forget how
to behave properly to every one; but that I must endeavour
to act not unworthy of it, for the honour of the gentleman
who had so generously raised me to it.
Mrs. Jewkes said, that my situation gave me great
opportunities of shewing the excellence of my nature, that I
could forgive offences against me so readily, as she, for
her own part, must always, she said, acknowledge, with
confusion of face.
People, said I, Mrs. Jewkes, don't know how they shall
act, when their wills are in the power of their superiors;
and I always thought one should distinguish between acts of
malice, and of implicit obedience; though, at the same time,
a person should know how to judge between lawful and
unlawful. And even the great, though at present angry they
are not obeyed, will afterwards have no ill opinion of a
person for withstanding them in their unlawful commands.
Mrs. Jewkes seemed a little concerned at this; and I
said, I spoke chiefly from my own experience: For that I
might say, as they both knew my story, that I had not wanted
both for menaces and temptations; and had I complied with
the one, or been intimidated by the other, I should not have
been what I was.
Ah, madam! replied Mrs. Jewkes, I never knew any body
like you; and I think your temper sweeter, since the happy
day, than before; and that, if possible, you take less upon
you.
Why, a good reason, said I, may be assigned for that: I
thought myself in danger: I looked upon every one as my
enemy; and it was impossible that I should not be fretful,
uneasy, jealous. But when my dearest friend had taken from
me the ground of my uneasiness, and made me quite happy, I
should have been very blamable, if I had not shewn a
satisfied and easy mind, and a temper that should engage
every one's respect and love at the same time, if possible:
And so much the more, as it was but justifying, in some
sort, the honour I had received: For the fewer enemies I
made myself, the more I engaged every one to think, that my
good benefactor had been less to blame in descending as he
has done.
This way of talking pleased them both very much; and they
made me many compliments upon it, and wished me always to be
happy, as, they said, I so well deserved.
We were thus engaged, when my master, and his sister and
her nephew, came in: and they made me quite alive, in the
happy humour in which they all returned. The two women would
have withdrawn: but my master said, Don't go, Mrs. Worden:
Mrs. Jewkes, pray stay; I shall speak to you presently. So
he came to me, and, saluting me, said, Well, my dear love, I
hope I have not trespassed upon your patience, by an absence
longer than we designed. But it has not been to your
disadvantage; for though we had not your company, we have
talked of nobody else but you.
My lady came up to me, and said, Ay, child, you have been
all our subject. I don't know how it is: but you have made
two or three good families, in this neighbourhood, as much
your admirers, as your friend here.
My sister, said he, has been hearing your praises,
Pamela, from half a score mouths, with more pleasure than
her heart will easily let her express.
My good Lady Davers's favour, said I, and the continuance
of yours, sir, would give me more pride than that of all the
rest of the world put together.
Well, child, said she, proud hearts don't come down all
at once; though my brother, here, has this day set mine a
good many pegs lower than I ever knew it: But I will say, I
wish you joy with my brother; and so kissed me.
My dear lady, said I, you for ever oblige me!—I shall now
believe myself quite happy. This was all I wanted to make me
so!—And I hope I shall always, through my life, shew your
ladyship, that I have the most grateful and respectful sense
of your goodness.
But, child, said she, I shall not give you my company
when you make your appearance. Let your own merit make all
your Bedfordshire neighbours your friends, as it has done
here, by your Lincolnshire ones; and you'll have no need of
my countenance, nor any body's else.
Now, said her nephew, 'tis my turn: I wish you joy with
all my soul, madam; and, by what I have seen, and by what I
have heard, 'fore Gad, I think you have met with no more
than you deserve; and so all the company says, where we have
been: And pray forgive all my nonsense to you.
Sir, said I, I shall always, I hope, respect as I ought,
so near a relation of my good Lord and Lady Davers; and I
thank you for your kind compliment.
Gad, Beck, said he, I believe you've some forgiveness too
to ask; for we were all to blame, to make madam, here, fly
the pit, as she did. Little did we think we made her quit
her own house.
Thou always, said my lady, sayest too much, or too
little.
Mrs. Worden said, I have been treated with so much
goodness and condescension since you went, that I have been
beforehand, sir, in asking pardon myself.
So my lady sat down with me half an hour, and told me,
that her brother had carried her a fine airing, and had
quite charmed her with his kind treatment of her; and had
much confirmed her in the good opinion she had begun to
entertain of my discreet and obliging behaviour: But,
continued she, when he would make me visit, without
intending to stay, my old neighbours, (for, said she, Lady
Jones being nearest, we visited her first; and she scraped
all the rest of the company together,) they were all so full
of your praises, that I was quite borne down; and, truly, it
was Saul among the prophets!
You may believe how much I was delighted with this; and I
spared not my due acknowledgments.
When her ladyship took leave, to go to bed, she said,
Goodnight to you, heartily, and to your good man. I kissed
you when I came in, out of form; but I now kiss you out of
more than form, I'll assure you.
Join with me, my dear parents, in my joy for this happy
turn; the contrary of which I so much dreaded, and was the
only difficulty I had to labour with. This poor Miss Sally
Godfrey, I wonder what's become of her, poor soul! I wish he
would, of his own head, mention her again.—Not that I am
very uneasy, neither.—You'll say, I must be a little saucy,
if I was.
My dear master gave me an account, when we went up, of
the pains he had taken with his beloved sister, as he
himself styled her; and of all the kind things the good
families had said in my behalf; and that he observed she was
not so much displeased with hearing them, as she was at
first; when she would not permit any body to speak of me as
his wife: And that my health, as his spouse, being put; when
it came to her, she drank it; but said, Come, brother,
here's your Pamela to you: But I shall not know how to stand
this affair, when the Countess——, and the young ladies, come
to visit me. One of these young ladies was the person she
was so fond of promoting a match for, with her brother.—Lady
Betty, I know, she said, will rally me smartly upon it; and
you know, brother, she wants neither wit nor satire. He
said, I hope, Lady Betty, whenever she marries, will meet
with a better husband than I should have made her; for, in
my conscience, I think I should hardly have made a tolerable
one to any but Pamela.
He told me that they rallied him on the stateliness of
his temper; and said, They saw he would make an exceeding
good husband where he was; but it must be owing to my
meekness, more than to his complaisance; for, said Miss
Darnford, I could see well enough, when your ladyship
detained her, though he had but hinted his desire of finding
her at our house, he was so out of humour at her supposed
noncompliance, that mine and my sister's pity for her was
much more engaged, than our envy.
Ay, said my lady, he is too lordly a creature, by much;
and can't bear disappointment, nor ever could.
Said he, Well, Lady Davers, you should not, of all
persons, find fault with me; for I bore a great deal from
you, before I was at all angry.
Yes, replied she: but when I had gone a little too far,
as I own I did, you made me pay for it severely enough! You
know you did, sauce-box. And the poor thing too, added she,
that I took with me for my advocate, so low had he brought
me! he treated her in such a manner as made my heart ache
for her: But part was art, I know, to make me think the
better of her.
Indeed, sister, said he, there was very little of that;
for, at that time, I cared not what you thought, nor had
complaisance enough to have given a shilling for your good
or bad opinion of her or me. And, I own, I was displeased to
be broken in upon, after your provocations, by either of you
and she must learn that lesson, never to come near me, when
I am in those humours; which shall be as little as possible:
For, after a while, if let alone, I always come to myself,
and am sorry for the violence of a temper, so like my dear
sister's here: And, for this reason think it is no matter
how few witnesses I have of its intemperance, while it
lasts; especially since every witness, whether they merit it
or not, as you see in my Pamela's case, must be a sufferer
by it, if, unsent for, they come in my way.
He repeated the same lesson to me again, and enforced it
and owned, that he was angry with me in earnest, just then;
though more with himself, afterwards, for being so: But
when, Pamela, said he, you wanted to transfer all my
displeasure upon yourself, it was so much braving me with
your merit, as if I must soon end my anger, if placed there;
or it was making it so light to you, that I was truly
displeased: for, continued he, I cannot bear that you should
wish, on any occasion whatever, to have me angry with you,
or not to value my displeasure as the heaviest misfortune
that could befall you.
But, sir, said I, you know, that what I did was to try to
reconcile my lady; and, as she herself observed, it was
paying her a high regard. It was so, replied he; but never
think of making a compliment to her, or any body living, at
my expense. Besides, she had behaved herself so intolerably,
that I began to think you had stooped too much, and more
than I ought to permit my wife to do; and acts of meanness
are what I can't endure in any body, but especially where I
love: and as she had been guilty of a very signal one, I had
much rather have renounced her at that time, than have been
reconciled to her.
Sir, said I, I hope I shall always comport myself so, as
not wilfully to disoblige you for the future; and the rather
do I hope this, as I am sure I shall want only to know your
pleasure to obey it. But this instance shews me, that I may
much offend, without designing it in the least.
Now, Pamela, replied he, don't be too serious: I hope I
shan't be a very tyrannical husband to you: Yet do I not
pretend to be perfect, or to be always governed by reason in
my first transports; and I expect, from your affection, that
you will bear with me when you find me wrong. I have no
ungrateful spirit, and can, when cool, enter as impartially
into myself as most men; and then I am always kind and
acknowledging, in proportion as I have been out of the way.
But to convince you, my dear, continued he, of your
fault, (I mean, with regard to the impetuosity of my temper;
for there was no fault in your intention, that I
acknowledge,) I'll observe only, that you met, when you came
to me, while I was so out of humour, a reception you did not
expect, and a harsh word or two that you did not deserve.
Now, had you not broken in upon me while my anger lasted,
but staid till I had come to you, or sent to desire your
company, you'd have seen none of this; but that affectionate
behaviour, which I doubt not you'll always merit, and I
shall always take pleasure in expressing: and in this temper
shall you always find a proper influence over me: But you
must not suppose, whenever I am out of humour, that, in
opposing yourself to my passion, you oppose a proper butt to
it; but when you are so good, like the slender reed, to bend
to the hurricane, rather than, like the sturdy oak, to
resist it, you will always stand firm in my kind opinion,
while a contrary conduct would uproot you, with all your
excellencies, from my soul.
Sir, said I, I will endeavour to conform myself, in all
things, to your will. I make no doubt but you will: and I'll
endeavour to make my will as conformable to reason as I can.
And let me tell you, that this belief of you is one of the
inducements I have had to marry at all: for nobody was more
averse to this state than myself; and, now we are upon this
subject, I'll tell you why I was so averse.
We people of fortune, or such as are born to large
expectations, of both sexes, are generally educated wrong.
You have occasionally touched upon this, Pamela, several
times in your journal, so justly, that I need say the less
to you. We are usually so headstrong, so violent in our
wills, that we very little bear control.
Humoured by our nurses, through the faults of our
parents, we practise first upon them; and shew the gratitude
of our dispositions, in an insolence that ought rather to be
checked and restrained, than encouraged.
Next, we are to be indulged in every thing at school; and
our masters and mistresses are rewarded with further
grateful instances of our boisterous behaviour.
But, in our wise parents' eyes, all looks well, all is
forgiven and excused; and for no other reason, but because
we are theirs.
Our next progression is, we exercise our spirits, when
brought home, to the torment and regret of our parents
themselves, and torture their hearts by our undutiful and
perverse behaviour to them, which, however ungrateful in us,
is but the natural consequence of their culpable indulgence
to us, from infancy upwards.
And then, next, after we have, perhaps, half broken their
hearts, a wife is looked out for: convenience, or birth, or
fortune, are the first motives, affection the last (if it is
at all consulted): and two people thus educated, thus
trained up, in a course of unnatural ingratitude, and who
have been headstrong torments to every one who has had a
share in their education, as well as to those to whom they
owe their being, are brought together; and what can be
expected, but that they should pursue, and carry on, the
same comfortable conduct in matrimony, and join most
heartily to plague one another? And, in some measure,
indeed, this is right; because hereby they revenge the cause
of all those who have been aggrieved and insulted by them,
upon one another.
The gentleman has never been controlled: the lady has
never been contradicted.
He cannot bear it from one whose new relation, he thinks,
should oblige her to shew a quite contrary conduct.
She thinks it very barbarous, now, for the first time, to
be opposed in her will, and that by a man from whom she
expected nothing but tenderness.
So great is the difference between what they both expect
from one another, and what they both find in each other,
that no wonder misunderstandings happen; that these ripen to
quarrels; that acts of unkindness pass, which, even had the
first motive to their union been affection, as usually it is
not, would have effaced all manner of tender impressions on
both sides.
Appeals to parents or guardians often ensue. If, by
mediation of friends, a reconciliation takes place, it
hardly ever holds: for why? The fault is in the minds of
both, and neither of them will think so; so that the wound
(not permitted to be probed) is but skinned over, and
rankles still at the bottom, and at last breaks out with
more pain and anguish than before. Separate beds are often
the consequence; perhaps elopements: if not, an
unconquerable indifference, possibly aversion. And whenever,
for appearance-sake, they are obliged to be together, every
one sees, that the yawning husband, and the vapourish wife,
are truly insupportable to one another; but separate, have
freer spirits, and can be tolerable company.
Now, my dear, I would have you think, and I hope you will
have no other reason, that had I married the first lady in
the land, I would not have treated her better than I will my
Pamela. For my wife is my wife; and I was the longer in
resolving on the state, because I knew its requisites, and
doubted my conduct in it.
I believe I am more nice than many gentlemen; but it is
because I have been a close observer of the behaviour of
wedded folks, and hardly ever have seen it to be such as I
could like in my own case. I shall, possibly, give you
instances of a more particular nature of this, as we are
longer, and, perhaps, I might say, better acquainted.
Had I married with the views of many gentlemen, and with
such as my good sister (supplying the place of my father and
mother,) would have recommended, I had wedded a fine lady,
brought up pretty much in my own manner, and used to have
her will in every thing.
Some gentlemen can come into a compromise; and, after a
few struggles, sit down tolerably contented. But, had I
married a princess, I could not have done so. I must have
loved her exceedingly well, before I had consented to knit
the knot with her, and preferred her to all her sex; for
without this, Pamela, indifferences, if not disgusts, will
arise in every wedded life, that could not have made me
happy at home; and there are fewer instances, I believe, of
men's loving better, after matrimony, than of women's; the
reason of which 'tis not my present purpose to account for.
Then I must have been morally sure, that she preferred me
to all men; and, to convince me of this, she must have
lessened, not aggravated, my failings: She must have borne
with my imperfections; she must have watched and studied my
temper; and if ever she had any points to carry, any desire
of overcoming, it must have been by sweetness and
complaisance; and yet not such a slavish one, as should make
her condescension seem to be rather the effect of her
insensibility, than judgment or affection.
She should not have given cause for any part of my
conduct to her to wear the least aspect of compulsion or
force. The word command, on my side, or obedience on hers, I
would have blotted from my vocabulary. For this reason I
should have thought it my duty to have desired nothing of
her, that was not significant, reasonable, or just; and that
then she should, on hers, have shewn no reluctance,
uneasiness, or doubt, to oblige me, even at half a word.
I would not have excused her to let me twice enjoin the
same thing, while I took so much care to make her compliance
with me reasonable, and such as should not destroy her own
free agency, in points that ought to be allowed her: And if
I was not always right, that yet she would bear with me, if
she saw me set upon it; and expostulate with me on the right
side of compliance; for that would shew me, (supposing small
points in dispute, from which the greatest quarrels, among
friends, generally arise,) that she differed from me, not
for contradiction-sake, but desired to convince me for my
own; and that I should, another time, take better
resolutions.
This would be so obliging a conduct, that I should, in
justice, have doubled my esteem for one, who, to humour me,
could give up her own judgment; and I should see she could
have no other view in her expostulations, after her
compliance had passed, than to rectify my motions for the
future; and it would have been impossible then, but I must
have paid the greater deference to her opinion and advice in
more momentous matters.
In all companies she must have shewn, that she had,
whether I deserved it altogether or not, a high regard and
opinion of me; and this the rather, as such a conduct in her
would be a reputation and security to herself: For if we
rakes attempt a married lady, our first encouragement,
exclusive of our own vanity, arises from the indifferent
opinion, slight, or contempt, she expresses of her husband.
I should expect, therefore, that she should draw a kind
veil over my faults; that such as she could not hide, she
would extenuate; that she would place my better actions in
an advantageous light, and shew that I had her good opinion,
at least, whatever liberties the world took with my
character.
She must have valued my friends for my sake; been
cheerful and easy, whomsoever I had brought home with me;
and, whatever faults she had observed in me, have never
blamed me before company; at least, with such an air of
superiority, as should have shewn she had a better opinion
of her own judgment, than of mine.
Now, my Pamela, this is but a faint sketch of the conduct
I must have expected from my wife, let her quality have been
what it would; or have lived with her on bad terms. Judge
then, if to me a lady of the modish taste could have been
tolerable.
The perverseness and contradiction I have too often seen,
in some of my visits, even among people of sense, as well as
condition, had prejudiced me to the married state; and, as I
knew I could not bear it, surely I was in the right to
decline it: And you see, my dear, that I have not gone among
this class of people for a wife; nor know I, indeed, where,
in any class, I could have sought one, or had one suitable
to my mind, if not you: For here is my misfortune; I could
not have been contented to have been but moderately happy in
a wife.
Judge you, from all this, if I could very well bear that
you should think yourself so well secured of my affection,
that you could take the faults of others upon yourself; and,
by a supposed supererogatory merit, think your interposition
sufficient to atone for the faults of others.
Yet am I not perfect myself: No, I am greatly imperfect.
Yet will I not allow, that my imperfections shall excuse
those of my wife, or make her think I ought to bear faults
in her, that she can rectify, because she bears greater from
me.
Upon the whole, I may expect, that you will bear with me,
and study my temper, till, and only till, you see I am
capable of returning insult for obligation; and till you
think, that I shall be of a gentler deportment, if I am
roughly used, than otherwise. One thing more I will add,
That I should scorn myself, if there was one privilege of
your sex, that a princess might expect, as my wife, to be
indulged in, that I would not allow to my Pamela; for you
are the wife of my affections: I never wished for one before
you, nor ever do I hope to have another.
I hope, sir, said I, my future conduct—Pardon me, said
he, my dear, for interrupting you; but it is to assure you,
that I am so well convinced of your affectionate regard for
me, that I know I might have spared the greatest part of
what I have said: And, indeed, it must be very bad for both
of us, if I should have reason to think it necessary to say
so much. But one thing has brought on another; and I have
rather spoken what my niceness has made me observe in other
families, than what I fear in my own. And, therefore, let me
assure you, I am thoroughly satisfied with your conduct
hitherto. You shall have no occasion to repent it: And you
shall find, though greatly imperfect, and passionate, on
particular provocations, (which yet I will try to overcome,)
that you have not a brutal or ungenerous husband, who is
capable of offering insult for condescension, or returning
evil for good.
I thanked him for these kind rules, and generous
assurances: and assured him, that they had made so much
impression on my mind, that these, and his most agreeable
injunctions before given me, and such as he should hereafter
be pleased to give me, should be so many rules for my future
behaviour.
And I am glad of the method I have taken of making a
Journal of all that passes in these first stages of my
happiness, because it will sink the impression still deeper;
and I shall have recourse to them for my better regulation,
as often as I shall mistrust my memory.
Let me see: What are the rules I am to observe from this
awful lecture? Why these:
1. That I must not, when he is in great wrath with any
body, break in upon him without his leave. Well, I'll
remember it, I warrant. But yet I think this rule is almost
peculiar to himself.
2. That I must think his displeasure the heaviest thing
that can befall me. To be sure I shall.
3. And so that I must not wish to incur it, to save any
body else. I'll be further if I do.
4. That I must never make a compliment to any body at his
expense.
5. That I must not be guilty of any acts of wilful
meanness. There is a great deal meant in this; and I'll
endeavour to observe it all. To be sure, the occasion on
which he mentions this, explains it; that I must say
nothing, though in anger, that is spiteful or malicious;
that is disrespectful or undutiful, and such-like.
6. That I must bear with him, even when I find him in the
wrong. This is a little hard, as the case may be!
I wonder whether poor Miss Sally Godfrey be living or
dead!
7. That I must be as flexible as the reed in the fable,
lest, by resisting the tempest, like the oak, I be torn up
by the roots. Well, I'll do the best I can!—There is no
great likelihood, I hope, that I should be too perverse; yet
sure, the tempest will not lay me quite level with the
ground, neither.
8. That the education of young people of condition is
generally wrong. Memorandum; That if any part of children's
education fall to my lot, I never indulge and humour them in
things that they ought to be restrained in.
9. That I accustom them to bear disappointments and
control.
10. That I suffer them not to be too much indulged in
their infancy.
11. Nor at school.
12. Nor spoil them when they come home.
13. For that children generally extend their perverseness
from the nurse to the schoolmaster: from the schoolmaster to
the parents:
14. And, in their next step, as a proper punishment for
all, make their ownselves unhappy.
15. That undutiful and perverse children make bad
husbands and wives: And, collaterally, bad masters and
mistresses.
16. That, not being subject to be controlled early, they
cannot, when married, bear one another.
17. That the fault lying deep, and in the minds of each
other, neither will mend it.
18. Whence follow misunderstandings, quarrels, appeals,
ineffectual reconciliations, separations, elopements; or, at
best, indifference; perhaps, aversion.—Memorandum; A good
image of unhappy wedlock, in the words YAWNING HUSBAND, and
VAPOURISH WIFE, when together: But separate, both quite
alive.
19. Few married persons behave as he likes. Let me ponder
this with awe and improvement.
20. Some gentlemen can compromise with their wives, for
quietness sake; but he can't. Indeed I believe that's true;
I don't desire he should.
21. That love before marriage is absolutely necessary.
22. That there are fewer instances of men's than women's
loving better after marriage. But why so? I wish he had
given his reasons for this! I fancy they would not have been
to the advantage of his own sex.
23. That a woman give her husband reason to think she
prefers him before all men. Well, to be sure this should be
so.
24. That if she would overcome, it must be by sweetness
and complaisance; that is, by yielding, he means, no doubt.
25. Yet not such a slavish one neither, as should rather
seem the effect of her insensibility, than judgment or
affection.
26. That the words COMMAND and OBEY shall be blotted out
of the Vocabulary. Very good!
27. That a man should desire nothing of his wife, but
what is significant, reasonable, just. To be sure, that is
right.
28. But then, that she must not shew reluctance,
un