_II.--Twelve Months Later_
MY DEAR MOTHER,--You and my good father may wonder you have not had a
letter from me in so many weeks; but a sad, sad scene has been the
occasion of it. But yet, don't be frightened, I am honest, and I hope
God, in his goodness, will keep me so.
O this angel of a master! this fine gentleman! this gracious benefactor
to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the prayer of his
good, dying mother! This very gentleman (yes, I _must_ call him
gentleman, though he has fallen from the merit of that title) has
degraded himself to offer freedoms to his poor servant; he has now
showed himself in his true colours, and, to me, nothing appears so black
and so frightful.
I have not been idle; but had writ from time to time, how he, by sly,
mean degrees, exposed his wicked views, but somebody stole my letter,
and I know not what is become of it. I am watched very narrowly; and he
says to Mrs. Jervis, the housekeeper, "This girl is always scribbling; I
think she may be better employed." And yet I work very hard with my
needle upon his linen and the fine linen of the family; and am, besides,
about flowering him a waistcoat. But, oh, my heart's almost broken; for
what am I likely to have for any reward but shame and disgrace, or else
ill words and hard treatment!
As I can't find my letter, I'll try to recollect it all. All went well
enough in the main, for some time. But one day he came to me as I was in
the summer-house in the little garden at work with my needle, and Mrs.
Jervis was just gone from me, and I would have gone out, but he said,
"Don't go, Pamela, I have something to say to you, and you always fly me
when I come near you, as if you were afraid of me."
I was much out of countenance you may well think, and began to tremble,
and the more when he took me by the hand, for no soul was near us.
"You are a little fool," he said hastily, "and know not what's good for
yourself. I tell you I will make a gentlewoman of you if you are
obliging, and don't stand in your own light." And so saying, he put his
arm about me and kiss'd me.
Now, you will say, all his wickedness appear'd plainly. I burst from
him, and was getting out of the summer-house, but he held me back, and
shut the door.
I would have given my life for a farthing. And he said, "I'll do you no
harm, Pamela; don't be afraid of me."
I sobb'd and cry'd most sadly. "What a foolish hussy you are!" said he.
"Have I done you any harm?" "Yes, sir," said I, "the greatest harm in
the world; you have taught me to forget myself, and have lessen'd the
distance that fortune has made between us, by demeaning yourself to be
so free to a poor servant. I am honest, though poor; and if you were a
prince I would not be otherwise than honest."
He was angry, and said, "Who, little fool, would have you otherwise?
Cease your blubbering. I own I have undervalued myself; but it was only
to try you. If you can keep this matter secret, you'll give me the
better opinion of your prudence. And here's something," added he,
putting some gold in my hand, "to make you amends for the fright I put
you in. Go, take a walk in the garden, and don't go in till your
blubbering is over."
"I won't take the money, indeed, sir," said I, and so I put it upon the
bench. And as he seemed vexed and confounded at what he had done, I took
the opportunity to hurry out of the summer-house.
He called to me, and said, "Be secret, I charge you, Pamela; and don't
go in yet."
O how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little they must make
the best of gentlemen look, when they put it into the power of their
inferiors to be greater than they!
Pray for me, my dear father and mother; and don't be angry that I have
not yet run away from this house, so late my comfort and delight, but
now my terror and anguish. I am forc'd to break off hastily.
Your dutiful and honest DAUGHTER.
_III.--Pamela in Distress_
O my dearest Father and Mother,--Let me write and bewail my miserable
fate, though I have no hope that what I write can be convey'd to your
hands! I have now nothing to do but write and weep and fear and pray!
But I will tell you what has befallen me, and some way, perhaps, may be
opened to send the melancholy scribble to you. Alas, the unhappy Pamela
may be undone before you can know her hard lot!
Last Thursday morning came, when I was to set out and return home to
you, my dearest parents. I had taken my leave of my fellow-servants
overnight, and a mournful leave it was to us all, for men, as well as
women servants, wept to part with me; and for _my_ part, I was
overwhelmed with tears on the affecting instances of their love.
My master was above stairs, and never ask'd to see me. False heart, he
knew that I was not to be out of his reach! Preserve me, heaven, from
his power, and from his wickedness!
I look'd up when I got to the chariot, and I saw my master at the
window, and I courtsy'd three times to him very low, and pray'd for him
with my hands lifted up; for I could not speak. And he bow'd his head to
me, which made me then very glad he would take such notice of me.
Robin drove so fast that I said to myself, at this rate of driving I
shall soon be with my father and mother. But, alas! by nightfall he had
driven me to a farmhouse far from home; and the farmer and his wife, he
being a tenant of Mr. B., my master, while they treated me kindly, would
do nothing to aid me in flight. And next day he drove me still further,
and when we stopped at an inn in a town strange to me, the mistress of
the inn was _expecting_ me, and immediately called out for her sister,
Jewkes. Jewkes! thought I. That is the name of the housekeeper at my
master's house in Lincolnshire.
Then the wicked creature appear'd, and I was frighted out of my wits.
The wretch would not trust me out of her sight, and soon I was forced to
set out with her in the chariot. Now I gave over all thoughts of
redemption.
Here are strange pains, thought I, taken to ruin a poor, innocent,
helpless young female. This plot is laid too deep to be baffled, I fear.
About eight at night we enter'd the courtyard of this handsome, large,
old, lonely mansion, that looked to me then as if built for solitude and
mischief. And here, said I to myself, I fear, is to be the scene of my
ruin, unless God protect me, Who is all-sufficient.
I was very ill at entering it, partly from fatigue, and partly from
dejection of spirits. Mrs. Jewkes seem'd mighty officious to welcome me,
and call'd me _madam_ at every word.
"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. Let us,
therefore, talk upon afoot together, and that will be a favour done me.
I am now no more than a poor desolate creature, and no better than a
prisoner."
"Ay, ay," says she, "I understand something of the matter. You have so
great power over my master that you will soon be mistress of us all; and
so I will oblige you, if I can. And I must and will call you madam, for
such are the instructions of my master, and you may depend upon it I
shall observe my orders."
"You will not, I hope," replied I, "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 a thing that
I _can_ do, I think I _ought_ to do it; and let him, who has power to
command me, look to the _lawfulness_ of it."
"Suppose," said I, "he should resolve to ensnare a poor young creature
and ruin her, would you assist him in such wickedness? And do you not
think that to rob a person of her virtue is worse than cutting her
throat?"
"Why, now," said she, "how strangely you talk! Are not the two sexes
made for each other? And is it not natural for a man to love a pretty
woman?" And then the wretch fell a-laughing, and talk'd most
impertinently, and show'd me that I had nothing to expect either from
her virtue or compassion.
_I am now come to the twenty-seventh day of my imprisonment_. One
stratagem I have just thought of, though attended with this discouraging
circumstance that I have neither friends, nor money, nor know one step
of the way were I actually out of the house. But let bulls and bears and
lions and tigers and, what is worse, false, treacherous, deceitful man
stand in my way, I cannot be in more danger than I now think myself in.
Mrs. Jewkes has received a letter. She tells me, as a secret, that she
has reason to think my master has found a way to satisfy my scruples. It
is by marrying me to his dreadful Swiss servant, 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 when my master
has paid for me, and I am surrender'd 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 these people to have a wife in every nation.
But this, to be sure, is horrid romancing!
_Friday, the thirty-sixth day of imprisonment_. Mercy on me! What will
become of me? Here is my master come in his fine chariot! What shall I
do? Where shall I hide myself?
He has entered and come up!
He put on a stern and a haughty air. "Well, perverse Pamela, ungrateful
creature, you do well, don't you, to give me all this trouble and
vexation?"
I could not speak, but sobb'd and sigh'd, as if my heart would break.
"Sir," I said, "permit me to return to my parents. That is all I have to
ask."
He flew into a violent passion. "Is it thus," said he, "I am to be
answered? Begone from my sight!"
The next day he sent me up by Mrs. Jewkes his proposals. They were seven
in number, and included the promise of an estate of £250 a year in Kent,
to be settled on my father; and a number of suits of rich clothing and
diamond rings were to be mine if I would consent to be his mistress.
My answer was that my parents and their daughter would 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.
Mrs. Jewkes now tells me he is exceedingly wroth, and that I must quit
the house, and may go home to my father and mother.
_Sunday night_. Well, my dear parents, here I am at an inn in a little
village. And Robin, the coachman, assures me he has orders to carry me
to you. O, that he may say truth and not deceive me again!
"I have proofs," said my master to Mrs. Jewkes, when I left the house,
"that her virtue is all her pride. Shall I rob her of that? No, let her
go, perverse and foolish as she is; but she deserves to go away
virtuous, and she shall."
I think I was loth to leave the house. Can you believe it? I felt
something so strange and my heart was so heavy.
_IV.--Virtue Triumphant--Pamela's Journal_
_Monday Morning, eleven o'clock._ We are just come in here, to the inn
kept by Mr. Jewkes's relations.
Just as I sat down, before setting out to pursue my journey, comes my
master's groom, all in a foam, man and horse, with a letter for me, as
follows:
"I find it in vain, my Pamela, to struggle against my affection for you,
and as I flatter myself you may be brought to _love_ me, I begin to
regret parting with you; but, God is my witness, from no dishonourable
motives, but the very contrary.
"You cannot imagine the obligation your return will lay me under to your
goodness, and if you are the generous Pamela I imagine you to be let me
see by your compliance the further excellency of your disposition. Spare
me, my dearest girl, the confusion of following you to your father's,
which I must do if you go on--for I find I cannot live without you, and
I must be--
"Yours, and only yours."
What, my dear parents, will you say to this letter? I am resolved to
return to my master, and am sending this to you by Thomas the coachman.
It was one o'clock when we reach'd my master's gate. Everybody was gone
to rest. But one of the helpers got the keys from Mrs. Jewkes, and
open'd the gates. I was so tired when I went to get out of the chariot
that I fell down, and two of the maids coming soon after helped me to
get up stairs.
It seems my master was very ill, and had been upon the bed most of the
day; but being in a fine sleep, he heard not the chariot come in.
_Tuesday Morning_. Mrs. Jewkes, as soon as she got up, went to know how
my master did, and he had had a good night. She told him he must not be
surprised--that Pamela was come back. He raised himself up.
"Can it be?" said he. "What, already? Ask her if she will be so good as
to make me a visit. If she will not, I will rise and attend her."
Mrs. Jewkes came to tell me, and I went with her. As soon as he saw me,
he said:
"Oh, my Pamela, you have made me quite well!"
How kind a dispensation is sickness sometimes! He was quite easy and
pleased with me.
The next day my master was so much better that he would take a turn
after breakfast in the chariot, handing me in before all the servants,
as if I had been a lady. At first setting out, he kissed me a little too
often, that he did; but he was exceedingly kind to me in his words as
well.
At last, he said:
"My sister, Lady Davers, threatens to renounce me, and I shall incur the
censures of the world if I act up to my present intentions. For it will
be said by everyone that Mr. B. has been drawn in by the eye, to marry
his mother's waiting maid. Not knowing, perhaps, that to her mind, to
her virtue, as well as to the beauties of her person, she owes her
well-deserved conquest; and that there is not a lady in the kingdom who
will better support the condition to which she will be raised if I
should marry her." And added he, putting his arm round me: "I pity my
dear girl, too, for her part in this censure, for here she will have to
combat the pride and slights of the neighbouring gentry all around us.
Lady Davers and the other ladies will not visit you; and you will, with
a merit superior to them all, be treated as if unworthy their notice.
Should I now marry my Pamela, how will my girl relish all this? Will not
these be cutting things to my fair one?"
"Oh, sir," said I, "your poor servant has a much greater difficulty than
this to overcome."
"What is that?" said he a little impatiently. "I will not forgive your
doubts now."
"No, sir," said I, "I cannot doubt; but it is, how I shall _support_,
how I shall _deserve, your_ goodness to me!"
"Dear girl!" said he, and press'd me to his bosom. "I was afraid you
would again have given me reason to think you had doubts of my honour,
and this at a time when I was pouring out my whole soul to you, I could
not so easily have forgiven."
"But, good sir," said I, "my greatest concern will be for the rude jests
you will have yourself to encounter for thus stooping beneath yourself.
For as to _me_ I shall have the pride to place more than half the ill
will of the ladies to their envying my happiness."
"You are very good, my dearest girl," said he. "But how will you bestow
your _time_, when you will have no visits to receive or pay? No parties
of pleasure to join in? No card-tables to employ your winter evenings?"
"In the first place, sir, if you will give me leave, I will myself look
into all such parts of the family management as may befit the mistress
of it to inspect. Then I will assist your housekeeper, as I used to do,
in the making of jellies, sweetmeats, marmalades, cordials; and to pot
and candy and preserve, for the use of the family; and to make myself
all the fine linen of it. Then, sir, if you will indulge me with your
company, I will take an airing in your chariot now and then; and I have
no doubt of so behaving as to engage you frequently to fill up some part
of my time in your instructive conversation."
"Proceed, my dear girl," said he. "I love to hear you talk !"
"Music, which my good lady also had me instructed in, will also fill up
some intervals if I should have any. Then, sir, you know, I love reading
and scribbling, and tho' most of the latter will be employed in the
family accounts, yet reading, in proper books, will be a pleasure to me,
which I shall be unwilling to give up for the best company in the world
when I cannot have yours."
"What delight do you give me, my beloved Pamela, in this sweet foretaste
of my happiness! I will now defy the saucy, busy censures of the world."
_Ten days later_. Your happy, thrice happy Pamela, is at last married,
my dearest parents.
This morning we entered the private chapel at this house, and my master
took my hand and led me up to the altar. Mr. Peters, the good rector,
gave me away, and the curate read the service. I trembled so, I could
hardly stand.
And thus the dear, once haughty, assailer of Pamela's innocence, by a
blessed turn of Providence, is become the kind, the generous protector
and rewarder of it.
* * * * *