I called her cruel creature. She lifted me up by my arm and insisted on my going down. I could not resist, she pulling me along to the stairs-head. I trembled all the way down-stairs; and when I came to the bottom, she stept into the parlour before me; and a new servant, who waited on him instead of John, withdrew as soon as I came in. By-the-way, he has a new coachman too, which looks as if he has also turned away Bedfordshire Robin.
‘I thought,’ said he, when I came down, ‘you should have sat at table with me, while I was in these parts, and when I had not company: but as I find you unworthy of that honour, and that you 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, ‘I think it an honour to be allowed to wait upon you.’ 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 salver with the glass on it, and spilt some of the wine. So Mrs Jewkes poured it for me, and gave it me to carry on the salver. I carried it as well as I could; and made a low curt’sy in offering it. He took it, and said, ‘Stand behind me, out of my sight.’
‘You tell me, Mrs Jewkes,’ said he, ‘that she remains very sullen still, and eats nothing.’ ‘No,’ said she, ‘not so much as to keep life and soul together.’ ‘And is always crying, you say too?’ ‘Yes, sir,’ answered she, ‘I think she is, for one thing or other.’ ‘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 in my life! But I suppose she lives upon love. This sweet Mr Williams, and her little villainous plots together, have kept her alive and well; for mischief, love, and contradiction, are the natural food of women.’
My heart was too full to allow me to speak.
‘And so you say 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 put me into a fearful pucker173 about it. I am glad, with all my heart, your honour is come; and hope, whatever be your honour’s intention concerning her, you will quickly let her know her fate; for you will find her as slippery as an eel, I assure you!’
‘Sir,’ said I, falling on my knees at his feet, and, not knowing what I did, clasping his knees, ‘Have mercy upon 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,’ added he, ‘to tempt a man to undo himself, at a time when I was on the point of making him happy for his life!’
I arose, but said, with a deep sigh, ‘I have done! I have done! I have a strange tribunal to plead before. The poor sheep, in the fable, had such a one; when it was tried before the vulture, on the accusation of the wolf!’174
‘So, Mrs Jewkes,’ said he, ‘you are the wolf, I the vulture, and this the poor harmless lamb, on her trial before us. You don’t know how well read this innocent is in reflection. Her memory always serves her, when she has a mind to display her own romantic innocence, at the price of other people’s characters.’
‘Well,’ said the aggravating creature, ‘this is nothing to what she has called me. I have been a Jezebel, a London prostitute, and what not But I am contented with her ill names, now I see it is her fashion, and she can call your honour a vulture.’
‘I had no thought,’ said I, ‘of comparing my master–’ and was going on: but he said, ‘Don’t prate, girll’ ‘No,’ said she, ‘it don’t become you, I’m 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! She can curse most heartily, in the spirit of Christian meekness, I assure you! Come, saucy-face, give me another glass.’
I poured out the wine, and offered it to him, 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, looking at me, I don’t know how, yet with a jeering look too, ‘How happy for you it is, that you can, at will, 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, that I undervalue myself thus to take notice of her? See,’ 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 in that bewitching 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 further part of the room, and leaned my face against the wainscot; and, in spite of all I could do to refrain, sobbed, as if my heart would break. ‘I am surprised, Mrs Jewkes,’ said he, with a very careless air, ‘at the mistake of the letters you tell me of! But 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,’ added he; ‘you and I have a long reckoning to make up. 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 go 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; I struggled. ‘Don’t be a fool, Pamela,’ said he. And then loosing his arms with an air, ‘Well, Mrs Jewkes, were it not for the thought of this cursed parson, I believe in my heart, I could yet forgive this intriguing girl; and, so great is my weakness, take her to my bosom.’
‘O,’ said the sycophant, ‘you are very good, sir! very forgiving indeed! But,’ added the profligate wretch, ‘I hope your honour will be so good as to forgive her still, and take her to yourself. If you do, you will certainly bring her to a better sense of her duty, by to-morrow morning.’
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 innocence was the subject of their ridicule.
‘Forgive her,’ said he, and paused, as if he was considering whether he could forgive me or not, ‘No, I cannot yet forgive her neither. She has given me great disturbance; she has brought great discredit upon me, both abroad and at home; she has corrupted all my servants at the other house; she has despised me for my condescension, and sought to run away with this ungrateful parson. And surely I ought not to forgive her.’
Yet, with all this wretched grimace, he put his arm about my neck, and so rudely kissed me, that I struggling said, ‘I will die, sir, before I will submit to this treatment!’ ‘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 can imagine. But take her up-stairs, Mrs Jewkes, and I’ll send a few lines to her to consider of; and let me, Pamela, have your answer in the morning. Till then you have to resolve: and after that, if you stand in your own light,175 your doom will be irrevocable.’ Thus dismissed, I hurried up-stairs, and gave myself up to grief, in expectation of what he would send: but yet I was glad of this night’s reprieve!
He sent me nothing, however. And about tw
elve o’clock Mrs Jewkes and Nan came up, as the night before, to be my bedfellows; and I would go to bed with some of my clothes on; at which they muttered sadly, Mrs Jewkes particularly. Indeed I would have sat up all night, if she would have let me: and I might as well; 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 that officious Sir Simon Darnford to dine with him today, whose family sent to welcome him into the country; and, it seems, the old baronet wants to see me. So I suppose I shall be sent for, as Samson176 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, his proposals. They are, my dear parents, to make me a vile kept mistress. So here are the honourable intentions all at once laid open! But you will see how they are accommodated to what I should have most desired, with regard to your welfare, could I have honestly promoted it. I have answered, as I’m sure you will approve. I fear there will be nothing omitted to ruin me, and though my poor strength may not be sufficient to defend me, yet I will be innocent of crime in the sight of God; and to him leave the avenging of all my wrongs.
I shall write to you my answer against his articles; and hope the best, though I dread the worst. But if I should come home to you ruined and undone, let me hope that you will pity your poor Pamela, and encourage her to look up to your worthy faces, for the short remainder of her life. Long, I am sure, I shall not survive my disgrace. Yet I ask neither your pity nor your forgiveness, if my ruin be not more owing to my misfortune than to my fault.
HIS PROPOSALS
MY ANSWER
The following ARTICLES are proposed to your serious consideration. Let me have an answer, in writing, to them. Only remember, that I will not be trifled with; and that what you give for answer, will absolutely decide your fate, without expostulation or further trouble:
Forgive, sir, the spirit your poor servant is about to shew in her answer to your ARTICLES. Not to be warm, and in earnest, on such an occasion, would shew a degree of guilt, that my soul abhors. I will not trifle with you, sir, nor act like one who is doubtful of her own mind, in a point that wants not one moment’s consideration. And I therefore return the ANSWER following, let what will be the consequence:
I. If you can convince me, that the hated Williams 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; and I believe his principal motive was the apprehended duty of his function, to assist, so contrary to his apparent interest, an innocent person, in distress. You may, sir, the rather believe me, when I declare, that I know not the man breathing I would wish to marry.
II. I will directly make you a present of five hundred guineas, which you may dispose of as you please: and will give it into the hands of any person you shall appoint to receive it; and expect no favour from you till you are satisfied in the irrevocable possession of it.
II. As to your second proposal, I reject it with all my soul. Money, sir, is not my chief good: may God Almighty desert me, whenever I make it so; and whenever, for the sake of that, I can give up my tide to that blessed hope which will stand me instead, at a time when millions of gold will not purchase one happy reflection on a past mis-spent life!
III. I will likewise directly make over to you a purchase I lately made in Kent, which brings in 250I. per annum, clear of all deductions. This shall be made over to you in full property to you and your descendants for ever. Your father shall be immediately put into possession of it in trust for you and yours. And I will make up deficiencies, if such should happen, to the amount of that clear yearly sum, and allow your father, besides, fifty pounds a-year, for his life, and for that of your mother, for his care and management of this your estate.
III. Your third article, 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 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 chuse to starve in a ditch, or rot in a noisome177 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 forms, 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.
IV. Your fourth article I take upon me, sir, to answer as the second and 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 order patterns to be sent you for chusing four complete suits of rich clothes, that you may appear with reputation, as if you were my wife. And I will give you the two diamond rings, and ear-rings, the solitaire178 and diamond necklace, and buckles that were bought to present to Miss Tomlins, if the treaty of marriage that was so near taking place between her and me had been brought to effect: and will confer upon you still other favours, as I shall find myself obliged, by your affection and good behaviour.
V. I do assure you, sir, that I have greater pride in my honest poverty and meanness, than I can have in dress and finery purchased with guilt. Believe me, sir, I think such things less become the low born Pamela, than the rags your good mother raised me from. Your rings, sir, your solitaire, your necklace, your ear-rings, and your buckles, will better befit some lady of degree, to whom you may give a lawful claim to them than me. To lose the best jewel, my virtue, would be poorly recompensed by the jewels 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? 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 trifles, and despise for them the more solid ornaments of a good fame and a chastity inviolate.179
VI. Now, Pamela, will you see 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 risqued my reputation, as I have done, without resolving to gratify my passion for you at all adventures.180 And it will behove you to consider, whether it is not better for you to comply upon terms so advantageous to you, and so beneficial to your father and mother, and other friends, than to be mine without condition or equivalent
VI. I know, sir, by woeful 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 I can do, poor as that may be, I will do, to preserve my honour: and then, if I cannot escape the violence of man, I can safely appeal to the great God my only refuge, with this consolation, that my will bore no part in the 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 chuse any one of them for your particular attendant: and if your conduct be such, as I have reason to be satisfied with it, I know not (though I will not engage for this) but 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.
VII. Give me leave to say, sir, that to the ceremony you call foolish, you yourself owe your being, and the mother, my dear and ever honoured lady and mistress, who bore you. Would she, sir, think you, have stooped to be the mistress of the person and fortunes of a king on such terms?181 For her sake, as well as for God’s sake, let me beseech you, sir, it is all I beg, to be allowed to return to my native poverty unviolated. I heard you once say, that a certain great commander, who could live upon lentils, might well refuse the bribes of the greatest monarch:182 and, I hope, as I can contentedly live in the meanest manner, that I am above making an exchange of my honesty for all the riches of the Indies.
And now, Pamela, consider well of the premises. Consider, that it is in your power to make yourself, and all your friends, happy: but this will be over this very day, irrevocably over; and you shall find, if obstinate, all you would be thought to fear, without the least benefit to yourself. But if you signify to me your compliance, and this you need only to do by desiring to see me, I will instantly set about securing to you the full effect of these proposals. One word only more: if, my dear girl, you value yourself, your friends, or my favour, let me experience a grateful return on this occasion: and I will forgive you all that’s past!
Give me leave to say, in answer to what you hint, that you may, in a twelvemonth’s time, marry me, if you shall be satisfied with 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 shall 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 man of your rank, should stoop, not only to marry the low-born Pamela, but to marry a low-born prostitute?