Yet, after all, dreadful is the thought, that I, a poor, weak, friendless, unhappy creature, am too fully in your power! But permit me, sir, to pray, as I now write, on my knees, That before you resolve upon my ruin, you yourself will weigh well the matter. Hitherto, sir, though you have taken large strides towards this heinous sin, yet are you on this side the commission of it. When once it is done, nothing can recal 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 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 a crime so foul, 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! 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!
Finally, sir, have pity, I beseech you have pity on
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; and at night, when Sir Simon was gone, my master sent Mrs Jewkes to remind me, was the word, that I had not let him know, I desired to see him: my answer was, I had written as he commanded; giving the paper to her for him.
She carried it down to him; but returned presently with it, saying, I must go down with it myself.
I went trembling; and yet I heartened myself up, so as that, in such a cause, I might shew as little fear as possible.
‘Well,’ said he, as soon as I came into his presence, ‘Have you considered my proposals?’ ‘I have, sir,’ said I; ‘and there is my answer: but pray let me not stay to see you read it.’
‘Is it owing to your bashfulness,’ said he, ‘or to your obstinacy that you would not have me 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 taking hold of my struggling hand, ‘Tell me, Pamela, whether you comply with my proposals, or not ?’
‘Sir,’ said I, ‘you will see presently; pray don’t hold me.’ ‘Did you well consider,’ said he, ‘before you wrote?’ ‘I did, sir,’ replied I. ‘If it be not what you think will please me,’ returned he, ‘take it back again, dear girl, and reconsider it; for if I have this as your absolute answer, and don’t like it, you are undone. Let me tell you, I will not meanly sue where I can command. I fear,’ added he, looking sternly in my face, ‘by your manner, it is not what I like. 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!’ He then clasped me in his arms, in such a manner as quite frighted me; and kissed me two or three times.
I got from him, and ran up stairs, and shut myself in the closet, extremely terrified and uneasy.
In an hour’s time he called Mrs Jewkes down to him; and I heard him very high in passion: and I heard her say, It was his own fault: there would be an end of all my perverseness, if he was once resolved; and such-like 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 bid me come to him. I asked her, ‘Whither?’ She said she would shew me.
I followed her three or four steps, and saw her making to his chamber, the door of which was open: ‘I cannot go thither!’ said I, and stopt. ‘Don’t be foolish,’ said she; ‘but come; no harm will be done to you!’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘if I the, I cannot go thither.’
I heard him say, ‘Let her come in, or it shall be worse for her.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘I cannot go thither, indeed I cannot’; and so I went back again into my closet; yet was afraid of being fetched by force.
But she came up soon after. ‘You have done your business with my master, I can tell you,’ said she. ‘He hates you now, as much as he once loved you. A fine piece of work! But he’ll do nothing to you himself. Come, make haste to bed. My master is gone to his.’ ‘I will not go to bed this night, that’s certain!’ said I. ‘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: but I said, ‘If I do go to bed, I am sure you will let my master in, and I shall be undone!’ ‘Mighty piece of undone!’ said the wretch. ‘But he is too much exasperated against you, to be so familiar with you, I will assure you! No, no,’ continued 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.’ ‘No husband in the world,’ said I, ‘shall make me do an unjust or base thing.’ ‘That will soon be tried,’ replied she; and Nan coming in, ‘What,’ said I, ‘am I to have two bed-fellows again, these warm nights?’ ‘Yes, slippery one,’ answered she, ‘you are; and that till you can have one good one instead of us.’ ‘This is like you, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I. ‘Out of the abundance of the heart. But it will do you no harm to let me sit all night in the great chair.’ ‘Nan,’ said she, ‘undress my young lady. If she won’t let you, I’ll help you: and if neither of us can do it quietly, we’ll call my master to do it for us; though I think it an office more worthy of Monsieur Colbrand!’ ‘You are very wicked,’ said I. ‘I know it,’ replied 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,’ (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 lame be silent!’ ‘No matter for your fleers,183 Mrs Jewkes,’ said I; ‘though I cannot be heard in my defence here, yet a time will come, 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! When that time comes,’ proceeded the wicked creature, ‘you’ll have all the talk to yourself! And how will the tongue of the pretty lambkin then bleat out innocence and virtue, and honesty, till the whole trial be at an end!’ ‘You are a wicked woman, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I; ‘and if you thought any thing of another world, could not talk thus. But no wonder! It shews what hands I am got into!’ ‘Ay, so it does,’ returned 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.’ She came to me, and took me in her huge arms, as if I were a feather; said she, ‘I do this to shew you, what a poor resistance you can make against me, if I pleased to exert myself; and so lambkin,’ setting me down, ‘don’t say to your wolf, I won’t come to bed! But undress, undress I tell you. And, Nan, pray pull off my young lady’s shoes.’ ‘No, pray don’t,’ said I, ‘I will come to bed presently, since I can’t help it.’
And so I went to the closet, and scribbled a little. 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 I got a little sleep that night, having had none for two or three nigh
ts 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
Knowing that my master was dressing, in order to go to church, and seeing through my window the chariot getting ready, How happy, thought I, should I be, if I could go to that holy place, where I have not been for so long a time! How can such a wicked wretch as my master, with such bad designs in his heart, have the courage to shew his face there! I would pray for him as well as for myself, thought I, if I might be permitted to go: and should even be glad to interest the whole congregation in my prayers. In this thought I took up my pen. And what, said I to myself, should be the form of such an address to the congregation? Perhaps this – and I wrote down this for myself:
The prayers of this congregation are earnestly desired by a poor distressed creature, for the preservation of her virtue and innocence.
And this for my master and myself:
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.
Mrs Jewkes came up: ‘Always writing!’ said she; and would see it. And strait, against my earnest entreaties, 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 so 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: my master, it seems, will have his money from him. This is very hard, for it is three fifty pounds, which 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. How generous was he to run these risques for the sake of oppressed innocence! I hope he will meet with his reward in due time.
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. For, now my disgrace is avowed, what can I think? To be sure the worst will be attempted! But if I must suffer, let me not, good Heaven! be long a mournful survivor! Only let me not sinfully shorten my time!
This woman left upon the table, in the chamber, the following letter of my master’s to her; and on seeing it there, I bolted myself in till I had transcribed it: you’ll see how tremblingly, by the crooked lines. I wish poor Mr Williams’s release at any rate; but this letter makes my heart ach. Yet I have another day’s reprieve, thank Heaven!
‘Mrs JEWKES,
‘I have been so pressed on Williams’s affair, that I shall set out this afternoon, in Sir Simon’s chariot-and-six,184 and with Mr Peters, who is his intercessor, for Stamford; and shall not be back till tomorrow 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 speciousness shall not save her from the fate that awaits her. But let her know nothing of this, lest it put her upon plots and artifices. Besure 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, &c.’
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. Well,’ continued she, ‘I wish poor Mr Williams well off; I understand my master is gone to make up matters with him; which is very good of him. To be sure he is a very forgiving gentleman.’ ‘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: we have, therefore, nothing to do, but to eat our suppers betimes,185 and go to-bed.’
So I have one more good honest night before me: who can tell what the next may be? But I know that I have your prayers at all times joined with my own.
TUESDAY Night
For the future, I will always mistrust most, when appearances look fairest. O your poor daughter, what has she not suffered since Sunday night, the time of her worst trial, and 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 in the ruin of your poor daughter; and that by such a plot as I was not in the least apprehensive of: and you’ll hear what a vile unwomanly part that wicked wretch, Mrs Jewkes, acted in it.
Take the dreadful story as well as I can relate it.
The maid Nan is fond of liquor, if she can get at it; and Mrs Jewkes happened, or designed, as is too probable, to leave a bottle of cherry-brandy in her way, and the wench drank more of it than she should; and when she came to lay the cloth, Mrs Jewkes perceived it, and rated at186 her most sadly. The wretch 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 bade 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, sitting fast asleep, in an elbow-chair, in a dark corner of the room, with her apron thrown over her head and neck. But oh! it was my abominable master, as you shall hear by and by. And Mrs Jewkes said, ‘There is that beast of a wench fast alseep! I knew she had taken a fine dose.’ ‘I will wake her,’ said I. ‘Let her sleep on,’ answered she, ‘we shall lie better without her.’ ‘So we shall,’ said I; ‘but won’t she get cold?’
‘I hope,’ said the vile woman, ‘you have no writing to-night.’ ‘No,’ replied I, ‘I will go to-bed when you go; Mrs Jewkes.’ ‘That’s right,’ answered she; ‘indeed I wonder what you can find to write about so continually. I am sure you have better conveniences of that kind, and more paper, than I am aware of. Indeed 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 a suspicion: but as he is come, let him look after you, if he will. If you deceive him, it will be his own fault.’
All this time we were undressing; and I fetching 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, bating187 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, in this manner.
‘My poor honest parents,’ said I, ‘in the first place, took care to instil good principles into my mind, till I was almost twelve years of age; and taught me to prefer goodness and poverty, if they could not be separated, to the highest condition; 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 bye-word.
‘Well, then 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 harpsichord, in order to divert her melancholy hours; and also taught me all manner of fine needle-works; but still this was her lesson, “My good Pamela, be virtuous, and keep the men at a distance.” Well, so I did; and yet, though I say it, they all respected me; and would do any thing for me, as if I were a gentlewoman.
‘But then, what comes next? Why, it pleased God to take my good lady; and then comes my master: and what says he? Why, in effect, it is “Be not virtuous, Pamela.”
‘So here have I lived above sixteen years in virtue and reputation; and, all at once, when I come to know what is good, and what is evil, I must renounce all the good, all the whole sixteen years innocence, which, next to God’s grace, I owed chiefly to my parents and to my lady’s good lessons and examples, and chuse the evil; and so, in a moment’s time, become the vilest of creatures! And all this, for what, I pray? Why, truly, for a pair of diamond earrings, a solitaire, 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 not have been so much to me, as the honest six guineas you tricked me out of, Mrs Jewkes.