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,