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.