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.