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PAMELA: or, Virtue Rewarded. In a SERIES of Familiar Letters from a Beautiful Young Damsel, To her PARENTS. Now first Published In order to cultivate the Principles of Virtue and Religion in the Minds of the Youth of Both Sexes. A Narrative which has its Foundation in TRUTH and NATURE; and at the same time that it agreeably entertains, by a Variety of curious and affecting Incidents, is intirely divested of all those Images, which, in too many Pieces calculated for Amusement only, tend to inflame the Minds they should instruct. In Two VOLUMES. Vol. I.
If to Divert and Entertain, and at the same time to Instruct, and Improve the Minds of the Youth of both Sexes:
If to inculate Religion and Morality in so easy and agreeable a manner, as shall render them equally delightful and profitable to the younger Class of Readers, as well as worthy of the Attention of Persons of maturer Years and Understandings:
If to set forth in the most exemplary Lights, the Parental, the Filial, and the Social Duties, and that from low to high Life:
If to paint Vice in its proper Colours, to make it deservedly Odious; and to set Virtue in its own amiable Light, to make it truly Lovely:
If to draw Characters justly, and to support them equally:
If to raise a Distress from natural Causes, and to excite Compassion from proper Motives:
If to teach the Man of Fortune how to use it; the Man of Passion how to subdue it; and the Man of Intrigue, how, gracefully, and with Honour to himself, to reclaim:
If to give practical Examples, worthy to be followed in the most critical and affecting Cases, by the modest Virgin, the chaste Bride, and the obliging Wife:
If to effect all these good Ends, in so probable, so natural, so lively a manner, as shall engage the Passions of every sensible Reader, and strongly interest them in the edifying Story:
And all without raising a single Idea throughout the Whole, that shall shock the exactest Purity, even in those tender Instances where the exactest Purity would be most apprehensive:
If these, (embellished with a great Variety of entertaining Incidents) be laudable or worthy Recommendations of any Work, the Editor of the following Letters, which have their Foundation in Truth and Nature, ventures to assert, that all these desirable Ends are obtained in these Sheets: And as he is therefore confident of the favourable Reception which he boldly bespeaks for this little Work; he thinks any further Preface or Apology for it, unnecessary: And the rather for two Reasons, 1st. Because he can Appeal from his own Passions, (which have been uncommonly moved in perusing these engaging Scenes) to the Passions of Every one who shall read them with the least Attention: And, in the next place, because an Editor may reasonably be supposed to judge with an Impartiality which is rarely to be met with in an Author towards his own Works.
The Editor.
Dear Sir, I have had inexpressible Pleasure in the Perusal of your Pamela. It intirely answers the Character you give of it in your Preface; nor have you said one Word too much in Commendation of a Piece that has Advantages and Excellencies peculiar to itself. For, besides the beautiful Simplicity of the Style, and a happy Propriety and Clearness of Expression (the Letters being written under the immediate Impression of every Circumstance which occasioned them, and that to those who had a Right to know the fair Writer's most secret Thoughts) the several Passions of the Mind must, of course, be more affectingly described, and Nature may be traced in her undisguised Inclinations with much more Propriety and Exactness, than can possibly be found in a Detail of Actions long past, which are never recollected with the same Affections, Hopes, and Dreads, with which they were felt when they occurred.
This little Book will infallibly be looked upon as the hitherto much-wanted Standard or Pattern for this Kind of Writing. For it abounds with lively Images and Pictures; with Incidents natural, surprising, and perfectly adapted to the Story; with Circumstances interesting to Persons in common Life, as well as to those in exalted Stations. The greatest Regard is every where paid in it to Decency, and to every Duty of Life: There is a constant Fitness of the Style to the Persons and Characters described; Pleasure and Instruction here always go hand in hand: Vice and Virtue are set in constant Opposition, and Religion every-where inculcated in its native Beauty and chearful Amiableness; not dressed up in stiff, melancholy, or gloomy Forms, on one hand, nor yet, on the other, debased below its due Dignity and noble Requisites, in Compliment to a too fashionable but depraved Taste. And this I will boldly say, that if its numerous Beauties are added to its excellent Tendency, it will be found worthy a Place, not only in all Families (especially such as have in them young Persons of either Sex) but in the Collections of the most curious and polite Readers. For, as it borrows none of its Excellencies from the romantic Flights of unnatural Fancy, its being founded in Truth and Nature, and built upon Experience, will be a lasting Recommendation to the Discerning and Judicious; while the agreeable Variety of Occurrences and Characters, in which it abounds, will not fail to engage the Attention of the gay and more sprightly Readers.
The moral Reflections and Uses to be drawn from the several Parts of this admirable History, are so happily deduced from a Croud of different Events and Characters, in the Conclusion of the Work, that I shall say the less on that Head. But I think, the Hints you have given me, should also prefatorily be given to the Publick; viz. That it will appear from several Things mentioned in the Letters, that the Story must have happened within these Thirty Years past: That you have been obliged to vary some of the Names of Persons, Places, &c. and to disguise a few of the Circumstances, in order to avoid giving Offence to some Persons, who would not chuse to be pointed out too plainly in it; tho' they would be glad it may do the Good so laudably intended by the Publication. And as you have in Confidence submitted to my Opinion some of those Variations, I am much pleased that you have so managed the Matter, as to make no Alteration in the Facts; and, at the same time, have avoided the digressive Prolixity too frequently used on such Occasions.
Little Book, charming Pamela! face the World, and never doubt of finding Friends and Admirers, not only in thine own Country, but far from Home; where thou mayst give an Example of Purity to the Writers of a neighbouring Nation; which now shall have an Opportunity to receive English Bullion in Exchange for its own Dross, which has so long passed current among us in Pieces abounding with all the Levities of its volatile Inhabitants. The reigning Depravity of the Times has yet left Virtue many Votaries. Of their Protection you need not despair. May every head-strong Libertine whose Hands you reach, be reclaimed; and every tempted Virgin who reads you, imitate the Virtue, and meet the Reward of the high-meriting, tho' low-descended, Pamela. I am, Sir,
Your most Obedient, and Faithful Servant,
J. B. D. F.
SIR, I return the Manuscript of Pamela by the Bearer, which I have read with a great deal of Pleasure. It is written with that Spirit of Truth and agreeable Simplicity, which, tho' much wanted, is seldom found in those Pieces which are calculated for the Entertainment and Instruction of the Publick. It carries Conviction in every Part of it; and the Incidents are so natural and interesting, that I have gone hand-in-hand, and sympathiz'd with the pretty Heroine in all her Sufferings, and been extremely anxious for her Safety, under the Apprehensions of the bad Consequences which I expected, every Page, would ensue from the laudable Resistance she made. I have interested myself in all her Schemes of Escape; been alternately pleas'd and angry with her in her Restraint; pleas'd with the little Machinations and Contrivances she set on foot for her Release, and angry for suffering her Fears to defeat them; always lamenting, with a most sensible Concern, the Mifcarriages of her Hopes and Projects. In short, the whole is so affecting, that there is no reading it without uncommon Concern and Emotion. Thus far only as to the Entertainment it gives.
As to Instruction and Morality, the Piece is full of both. It shews Virtue in the strongest Light, and renders the Practice of it amiable and lovely.
The beautiful Sufferer keeps it ever in her View, without the least Ostentation, or Pride; she has it so strongly implanted in her, that thro' the whole Course of her Sufferings, she does not so much as hesitate once, whether she shall sacrifice it to Liberty and Ambition, or not; but, as if there were no other way to free and save herself, carries on a determin'd Purpose to persevere in her Innocence, and wade with it throughout all Difficulties and Temptations, or perish under them. It is an astonishing Matter, and well worth our most serious Consideration, that a young beautiful Girl, in the low Scene of Life and Circumstance in which Fortune placed her, without the Advantage of a Friend capable to relieve and protect her, or any other Education than what occurr'd to her from her own Observation and little Reading, in the Course of her Attendance on her excellent Mistress and Benefactress, could, after having a Taste of Ease and Plenty in a higher Sphere of Life than what she was born and first brought up in, resolve to return to her primitive Poverty, rather than give up her Innocence. I say, it is surprizing, that a young Person, so circumstanced, could, in Contempt of proffer'd Grandeur on the one side, and in Defiance of Penury on the other, so happily and prudently conduct herself thro' such a Series of Perplexities and Troubles, and withstand the alluring Baits, and almost irresistible Offers of a fine Gentleman, so universally admired and esteemed, for the Agreeableness of his Person and good Qualities, among all his Acquaintance; defeat all his Measures with so much Address, and oblige him, at last, to give over his vain Pursuit, and sacrifice his Pride and Ambition to Virtue, and become the Protector of that Innocence which he so long and so indefatigably labour'd to supplant: And all this without ever having entertain'd the least previous Design or Thought for that Purpose: No Art used to inflame him, no Coquetry practised to tempt or mtice him, and no Prudery or Affectation to tamper with his Passions; but, on the contrary, artless and unpractised in the Wiles of the World, all her Endeavours, and even all her Wishes, tended only to render herself as un-amiable as she could in his Eyes: Tho' at the same time she is so far from having any Aversion to his Person, that she seems rather prepossess'd in his Favour, and admires his Excellencies, whilst she condemns his Passion for her. A glorious Instance of Self-denial! Thus her very Repulses became Attractions: The more she resisted, the more she charm'd; and the very Means she used to guard her Virtue, the more indanger'd it, by inflaming his Passions: Till, at last, by Perseverance, and a brave and resolute Defence, the Besieged not only obtain'd a glorious Victory over the Besieger, but took him Prisoner too.
I am charmed with the beautiful Reflections she makes in the Course of her Distresses; her Soliloquies and little Reasonings with herself, are exceeding pretty and entertaining: She pours out all her Soul in them before her Parents without Disguise; so that one may judge of, nay, almost see, the inmost Recesses of her Mind. A pure clear Fountain of Truth and Innocence, a Magazine of Virtue and unblemish'd Thoughts!
I can't conceive why you should hesitate a Moment as to the Publication of this very natural and uncommon Piece. I could wish to see it out in its own native Simplicity, which will affect and please the Reader beyond all the Strokes of Oratory in the World; for those will but spoil it: and, should you permit such a murdering Hand to be laid upon it, to gloss and tinge it over with superfluous and needless Decorations, which, like too much Drapery in Sculpture and Statuary, will but incumber it; it may disguise the Facts, marr the Reflections, and unnaturalize the Incidents, so as to be lost in a Multiplicity of fine idle Words and Phrases, and reduce our Sterling Substance into an empty Shadow, or rather frenchify our English Solidity into Froth and Whip-syllabub. No; let us have Pamela as Pamela wrote it; in her own Words, without Amputation, or Addition. Produce her to us in her neat Country Apparel, such as she appear'd in, on her intended Departure to her Parents; for such best becomes her Innocence and beautiful Simplicity. Such a Dress will best edify and entertain. The flowing Robes of Oratory may indeed amuse and amaze, but will never strike the Mind with solid Attention.
In short, Sir, a Piece of this Kind is much wanted in the World, which is but too much, as well as too early debauched by pernicious Novels. I know nothing Entertaining of that Kind that one might venture to recommend to the Perusal (much less the Imitation) of the Youth of either Sex: All that I have hitherto read, tends only to corrupt their Principles, mislead their Judgments, and initiate them into Gallantry and loose Pleasures.
Publish then, this good, this edifying and instructive little Piece for their Sakes. The Honour of Pamela's Sex demands Pamela at your Hands, to shew the World an Heroine, almost beyond Example, in an unusual Scene of Life, whom no Temptations, or Sufferings, could subdue. It is a fine, and glorious Original, for the Fair to copy out and imitate. Our own Sex, too, require it of you, to free us, in some measure, from the Imputation of being incapable of the Impressions of Virtue and Honour; and to shew the Ladies, that we are not inflexible while they are so.
In short, the Cause of Virtue, calls for the Publication of such a Piece as this. Oblige then, Sir, the concurrent Voices of both Sexes, and give us Pamela for the Benefit of Mankind: And as I believe its Excellencies cannot be long unknown to the World, and that there will not be a Family without it; so I make no Doubt but every Family that has it, will be much improv'd and better'd by it. T will form the tender Minds of Youth for the Reception and Practice of Virtue and Honour; confirm and establish those of maturer Years on good and steady Principles; reclaim the Vicious, and mend the Age in general; insomuch that as I doubt not Pamela will become the bright Example and Imitation of all the fashionable young Ladies of Great Britain; so the truly generous Benefactor and Rewarder of her exemplary Virtue, will be no less admired and imitated among the Eeau Monde of out own Sex. I am,
Your affectionate Friend, &c.
Dear Father and Mother, I have great Trouble, and some Comfort, to acquaint you with. The Trouble is, that my good Lady died of the Illness I mention'd to you, and left us all much griev'd for her Loss; for she was a dear good Lady, and kind to all us her Servants. Much I fear'd, that as I was taken by her Goodness to wait upon her Person, I should be quite destitute again, and forc'd to return to you and my poor Mother, who have so much to do to maintain yourselves; and, as my Lady's Goodness had put me to write and cast Accompts, and made me a little expert at my Needle, and other Qualifications above my Degree, it would have been no easy Matter to find a Place that your poor Pamela was fit for: But God, whose Graciousness to us we have so often experienc'd at a Pinch, put it into my good Lady's Heart, on her Death-bed, just an Hour before she expir'd, to recommend to my young Master all her Servants, one by one; and when it came to my Turn to be recommended, for I was sobbing and crying at her Pillow, she could only say, My dear Son! —and so broke off a little, and then recovering—Remember my poor Pamela! —And these were some of her last Words! O how my Eyes run! —Don't wonder to see the Paper so blotted!
Well, but God's Will must be done!—and so comes the Comfort, that I shall not be oblig'd to return back to be a Clog upon my dear Parents! For my Master Taid, I will take care of you all, my Lasses; and for you, Pamela, (and took me by the Hand; yes, he took me by the Hand before them all) for my dear Mother's sake, I will be a Friend to you, and you shall take care of my Linen. God bless him! and pray with me, my dear Father and Mother, for God to bless him: For he has given Mourning and a Year's Wages to all my Lady's Servants; and I having no Wages as yet, but what my Lady said she would do for me as I deserv'd, order'd the House-keeper to give me Morning with the rest, and gave me with his own Hand Four golden Guineas, besides lesser Money, which were in my old Lady's Pocket when she dy'd; and said, If I was a good Girl, and faithful and diligent, he would be a Friend to me, for his Mother's sake. And so I send you these four Guineas for your Comfort; for God will not let me want: And so you may pay some old Debt with Part; and keep the other Part to comfort you both. If I get more, I am sure it is my Duty, and it shall be my Care to love and cherish you both; for you have lov'd me and cherish'd me, when I could do nothing for myself: And so you have for us all, or what must have become of us! I send it by John our Footman, who goes your way; but he does not know what he carries; because I seal it up in one of the little Pill-boxes which my Lady had, wrapt close in Paper, that it mayn't chink; and be sure don't open it before him.
I know, dear Father and Mother, I must give you both Grief and Pleasure; and so I will only say, Pray for your Pamela; who will ever be,
Your most dutiful Daughter.
Your dutiful Daughter, Pamela Andrews.
In Answer to the preceding.
Dear Pamela, Your Letter was indeed a great Trouble and some Comfort to me, and your poor Mother. We are troubled, to be sure, for your good Lady's Death, who took such care of you, and gave you Learning, and for Three Years past has always been giving you Cloaths and Linen, and every thing that a Gentlewoman need not be asham'd to appear in. But our chief Trouble is, and indeed a very great one, for fear you should be brought to any thing dishonest or wicked, by being set so above yourself. Every body talks how you have come on, and what a genteel Girl you are, and some say, you are very pretty; and indeed, Six Months since, when I saw you last, I should have thought so too, if you was not our Child. But what avails all this, if you are to be ruin'd and undone! —Indeed, my dear Child, we begin to be in great Fear for you; for what signifies all the Riches in the World with a bad Conscience, and to be dishonest? We are, 'tis , very poor, and find it hard enough to live; tho' once, as you know, it was better with us. But we would sooner live upon the Water and Clay of the Ditches I am forc'd to dig, than to live better at the Price of our dear Child's Ruin.
I hope the good 'Squire has no Design; but when he has given you so much Money, and speaks so kindly to you, and praises your coming on; and Oh! that fatal Word, that he would be kind to you, if you would do as you should do, almost kills us with Fears.
I have spoken to good old Widow Mumford about it, who, you know, has formerly lived in good Families, and she puts us in some Comfort; for she says, it is not unusual, when a Lady dies, to give what she has about her to her Waiting-maid, and to such as sit up with her in her Illness. But then, why should he smile so kindly upon you? Why should he take such a poor Girl as you by the Hand, as your Letter says he has done twice? Why should he stoop to read your Letter to us; and commend your Writing and Spelling? And, why should he give you Leave to read his Mother's Books! —Indeed, indeed, my dearest Child, our Hearts ake for you; and then you seem so full of Joy at his Goodness, so taken with his kind Expressions, which truly are very great Favours, if he means well, that we fear —Yes, my dear Child, we fear—you should be too grateful,—and reward him with that Jewel, your Virtue, which no Riches, nor Favour, nor any thing in this Life, can make up to you.
I, too, have written a long Letter; but will say one Thing more; and that is, That in the Midst of our Poverty and Misfortunes, we have trusted in God's Goodness, and been honest, and doubt not to be happy hereafter, if we continue to be good, tho' our Lot is hard here; but the Loss of our dear Child's Virtue, would be a Grief that we could not bear, and would bring our grey Hairs to the Grave at once.
If you love us then, if you value God's Blessing, and your own future Happiness, we both charge you to stand upon your Guard; and, if you find the least Attempt made upon your Virtue, be sure you leave every thing behind you, and come away to us; for we had rather see you all cover'd with Rags, and even follow you to the Church-yard, than have it said, a Child of ours preferr'd worldly Conveniencies to her Virtue.
We accept kindly of your dutiful Present; but 'till we are out of our Pain, cannot make use of it, for fear we should partake of the Price of our poor Daughter's Shame: So have laid it up in a Rag among the Thatch, over the Window, for a while, lest we should robb'd. With our Blessings and our hearty Prayers for you, we remain,
Your careful, but loving Father and Mother, John and Elizabeth Andrews.
Dear Father, I must needs say, that your Letter has fill'd me with much Trouble. For it has made my Heart, which was overflowing with Gratitude for my young Master's Goodness, suspicious and fearful; and yet, I hope I never shall find him to act unworthy of his Character; for what could he get by ruining such a poor young Creature as me? But that which gives me most Trouble is, that you seem to mistrust the Honesty of your Child. No, my dear Father and Mother, be assur'd, that, by God's Grace, In ever will do any thing that shall bring your grey Hairs with Sorrow to the Grave. I will die a thousand Deaths, rather than be dishonest any way. Of that be assur'd, and set your Hearts at rest; for altho' I have liv'd above myself for some Time past, yet I can be content with Rags and Poverty, and Bread and Water, and will embrace them rather than forfeit my good Name, let who will be the Tempter. And of this rest satisfy'd, and think better of
Your dutiful Daughter till Death.
Dear Mother, For the last Letter was to my Father, in Answer to his Letter; and so I will now write to you; tho' I have nothing to say but what will make me look more like a vain Hussy, than any thing else: Yet I hope I shan't be so proud as to forget myself. Yet there is a secret Pleasure one has to hear one's self prais'd. You most know then, that my Lady Davers, who, you know, is my Master's Sister, has been a whole Month at our House, and has taken great Notice of me, and given me good Advice to keep myself to myself; she rold me I was a very pretty Wench, and that every body gave me a very good Character, and lov'd me; and bid me take care to keep the Fellows at a Distance; and said, that I might do, and be more valu'd for it, even by themselves. But what pleas'd me much, was, that at Table, as Mrs. Jervis was telling me, my Master and her Ladyship were talking of me, and she told him, she thought me the prettiest Wench she ever saw in her Life; and that I was too pretty to live in a Batchelor's House; and that no Lady he might marry, would care to continue me with her. He said, I was vastly improv'd, and had a good Share of Prudence, and Sense above my Years; and it would be Pity, that what was my Merit, should be my Misfortune. —No, says my good Lady, Pamela shall come and live with me, I think. He said, With all his Heart, he should be glad to have me so well provided for. Well, said she, I'll consult my Lord about it. She ask'd how old I was; and Mrs. Jervis said, I was Fifteen last February. O! says she, if the Wench (for so she calls all us Maiden Servants) takes care of herself, she'll improve yet more and more, as well in her Person as Mind.
Now, my dear Father and Mother, tho' this may look too vain to be repeated by me, yet are you not rejoic'd as well as I, to see my Master so willing to part with me? —This shews that he has nothing bad in his Heart. But John is just going away, and so I have only to say, that I am, and will always be,
Your honest, as well as dutiful Daughter
My dear Father and Mother, John being going your way, I am willing to write, because he is so willing to carry any thing for me. He says it does him good at his Heart to see you both, and to hear you talk. He says you are both so good, and so honest, that he always learns something from you to the Purpose. It is a thousand Pities, he says, that such honest Hearts should not have better Luck in the World. But this is more Pride to me, that I am come of such honest Parents, than if I had been born a Lady.
I hear nothing yet of going to Lady Davers. And I am very easy at present here. For Mrs. Jervis uses me as if I was her own Daughter, and is a very good Woman, and makes my Master's Interest her own. She is always giving me good Counsel, and I love her, next to you two, I think, best of any body. She keeps so good Rule and Order, she is mightily respected by us all; and takes Delight to hear me read to her; and all she loves to hear read, is good Books, which we read whenever we are alone; so that I think I am at home with you. She heard one of our Men, Harry, who is no better than he should be, speak freely to me; I think he call'd me his pretty Pamela, and took hold of me, as if he would have kiss'd me; for which you may be sure I was very angry; and she took him to Task, and was as angry at him as could be, and told me she was very well pleas'd to see my Prudence and Modesty, and that I kept all the Fellows at a Distance. And indeed I am sure I am not proud, and carry it civil to every body; but yet, methinks I can't bear to be look'd upon by these Men-servants; for they seem as if they would look one thro'; and, as I almost always breakfast, dine, and sup with Mrs. Jervis, so good she is to me, so I am very easy that I have so little to say to them. Not but they are very civil to me in the main, for Mrs. Jervis's sake, who they see loves me; and they stand in Awe of her, knowing her to be a Gentlewoman born, tho' she has had Misfortunes. I am going on again with a long Letter; for I love Writing, and shall tire you. But when I began, I only intended to say, that I am quite fearless of any Danger now: And indeed can but wonder at myself, (tho' your Caution to me was your watchful Love) that I should be so foolish as to be so uneasy as I have been: For I am sure my Master would not demean himself so, as to think upon such a poor Girl as I, for my Harm. For such a Thing would ruin his Credit as well as mine, you know: For, to be sure, he may expect one of the best Ladies in the Land. So no more at present; but that I am
Your ever dutiful Daughter.
Dear Father and Mother, My Master has been very kind since my last; for he has given me a Suit of my old Lady's Cloaths, and half a Dozen of her Shifts, and Six fine Handkerchiefs, and Three of her Cambrick Aprons, and Four Holland ones: The Cloaths are fine Silks, and too rich and too good for me, to be sure. I wish it was no Affront to him to make Money of them, and send it to you: it would do me more good.
You will be full of Fears, I warrant now, of some Design upon me, till I tell you, that he was with Mrs. Jervis when he gave them me; and he gave her a Mort of good Things at the same Time, and bid her wear them in Remembrance of her good Friend, my Lady, his Mother. And when he gave me these fine Things, he said, These, Pamela, are for you; have them made fit for you, when your Mourning is laid by, and wear 'em for your good Mistress's sake. Mrs. Jervis gives you a very good Word; and I would have you continue to behave as prudently as you have done hitherto, and every body will be your Friend.
I was so surpris'd at his Goodness, that I could not tell what to say. I curcheed to him, and to Mrs. Jervis for her good Word; and said, I wish'd I might be deserving of his Favour, and his Kindness: And nothing should be wanting in me, to the best of my Knowledge.
O how amiable a Thing is doing good! —It is all I envy great Folks for!
I always thought my young Master a fine Gentleman, as every body says he is: But he gave these good Things to us both with such a Graciousness, as I thought he look'd like an Angel.
Mrs. Jervis says, he ask'd her, If I kept the Men at a Distance; for he said, I was very pretty, and to be drawn in to have any of them, might be my Ruin, and make me poor and miserable betimes. She never is wanting to give me a good Word, and took Occasion to launch out in my Praise, she says. But I hope she said no more than I shall try to deserve, tho' I mayn't at present. I am sure I will always love her next to you and my dear Mother. So I rest,
Your ever dutiful Daughter.
Dear Father, Since my last, my Master gave me more fine Things. He call'd me up to my old Lady's Closet, and pulling out her Drawers, he gave me Two Suits of fine Flanders lac'd Headcloths, Three Pair of fine Silk Shoes, two hardly the worse, and just fit for me; for my old Lady had a very little Foot; and several Ribbands and Topknots of all Colours, and Four Pair of fine white Cotton Stockens, and Three Pair of fine Silk ones; and Two Pair of rich Stays, and a Pair of rich Silver Buckles in one Pair of the Shoes. I was quite astonish'd, and unable to speak for a while; but yet I was inwardly asham'd to take the Stockens; for Mrs. Jervis was not there: If she had, it would have been nothing. I believe I receiv'd them very awkwardly; for he smil'd at my Awkwardness; and said, Don't blush, Pamela: Dost think I don't know pretty Maids wear Shoes and Stockens?
I was so confounded at these Words, you might have beat me down with a Feather. For, you must think, there was no Answer to be made to this: So, like a Fool, I was ready to cry; and went away curcheeing and blushing, I am sure, up to the Ears; for, tho' there was no Harm in what he said, yet I did not know how to take it. But I went and told all to Mrs. Jervis, who said, God put it into his Heart to be good to me; and I must double my Diligence. It look'd to her, she said, as if he would fit me in Dress for a Waiting-maid's Place on his Sister Lady Davers's own Person.
But still your kind fatherly Cautions came into my Head, and made all these Gifts nothing near to me what they would have been. But yet I hope there is no Reason; for what Good could it do him to harm such a simple Maiden as me? Besides, to be sure, no Lady would look upon him, if he should so disgrace himself. So I will make myself easy; and indeed, I should never have been otherwise, if you had not put it into my Head; for my Good, I know very well. But, may be, without these Uneasinesses to mingle with these Benefits, I might be too much puff'd up: So I will conclude, All that happens is for our Good; and so God bless you, my dear Father and Mother; and I know you will pray to God to bless me; who am, and shall always be,
Your dutiful Daughter.
Dear Pamela, I Cannot but renew my Cautions to you on your Master's Kindness to you, and his free Expression to you about the Stockens. Yet there may not be, and I hope there is not, any thing in it. But when I reflect, that there possibly may, and that if there should, no less depends upon it than my Child's everlasting Happiness in this World and the next; it is enough to make one fearful of the worst. Arm yourself, my dear Child, for the worst; and resolve to lose your Life sooner than your Virtue. What tho' the Doubts I fill'd you with, lessen the Pleasure you would have had in your Master's Kindness, yet what signify the Delights that arise from a few paltry fine Cloaths, in Comparison with a good Conscience?
These are indeed very great Favours that he heaps upon you, but so much the more to be suspected; and when you say he look'd so amiable, and like an Angel, how afraid I am, that they should make too great an Impression upon you! For, tho' God has bless'd you with Sense and Prudence above your Years, yet, I tremble to think what a sad Hazard a poor Maiden of no more than Fifteen Years of Age stands against the Temptations of this World, and a designing young Gentleman, if he should prove so, who has so much Power to oblige, and has a kind of Authority to command as your Master.
I charge you, my dear Child, on both our Blessings, poor as we are, to be on your Guard; there can be no Harm in that: and since Mrs. Jervis is so good a Gentlewoman, and so kind to you, I am the easier a great deal, and so is your Mother; and we hope you will hide nothing from her, and take her Counsel in every thing. So with our Blessings and assured Prayers for you, more than for ourselves, we remain
Your loving Father and Mother.
Dear Father and Mother, I Am sorry to write you word, that the Hopes I had of going to wait on Lady Davers are quite over. My Lady would have had me; but my Master, as I hear by the bye, would not consent to it. He said, Her Nephew might be taken with me, and I might draw him in, or be drawn in by him; and he thought, as his Mother lov'd me, and committed me to his Care, he ought to continue me with him; and Mrs. Jervis would be a Mother to me. Mrs. Jervis tells me, the Lady shook her Head, and said, Ah! Brother! and that was all. And as you have made me fearful by your Cautions, my Heart at times misgives me. But I say nothing yet of your Caution, or my own Uneasiness, to Mrs. Jervis; not that I mistrust her, but for fear she should think me presumptuous, and vain, and conceited, to have any Fears about the matter, from the great Distance between so great a Man, and so poor a Girl. But yet Mrs. Jervis seem'd to build something upon Lady Davers' shaking her Head, and saying, Ah! Brother, and no more! God, I hope, will give me his Grace; and so I will not, if I can help it, make myself too uneasy; for I hope there is no Occasion. But every little matter that happens, I will acquaint you with, that you shall continue to me your good Advice, and pray for
Your sad-hearted Pamela.
Dear Mother, You and my good Father may wonder that you have not had a Letter from me in so many Weeks; but a sad, sad Scene has been the Occasion of it. For, to be sure, now it is too plain, that all your Cautions were well-grounded. O my dear Mother! I am miserable, truly miserable! —But yet, don't be frighted, I am honest! —God, of his Goodness, 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; who was so careful of me, lest I should be drawn in by Lord Davers's Nephew; that he would not let me go to Lady Davers's: This very Gentleman (yes, I must call him Gentleman, tho' he has fallen from the Merit of that Title) has degraded himself to offer Freedoms to his poor Servant! He has now shew'd himself in his Colours, and to me, nothing appears so black and so frightful.
I have not been idle; but have 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. It was a very long one. I fear he that was mean enough to do bad things, in one respect, did not stick at this; but be it as it will, all the Use he can make of it will be, that he may be asham'd of his Part; I not of mine. For he will see I was resolv'd to be honest, and glory'd in the Honesty of my poor Parents. I will tell you all, the next Opportunity; for I am watch'd, and such-like, very narrowly; and he says to Mrs. Jervis, This Girl is always scribbling; I think she may be better employ'd. And yet I work all Hours 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 broke almost; for what am I likely to have for my Reward, but Shame and Disgrace, or else ill Words, and hard Treatment! I'll tell you all soon, and hope I shall find my long Letter.
Your most afflicted Daughter.
Dear Mother, Well, I can't find my Letter, and so I'll tell you all, as briefly as I can. All went well enough in the main for some time after my last Letter but one. At last, I saw some Reason to suspect; for he would look upon me, whenever he saw me, in such a manner, as shew'd not well; and at last 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, No, don't go, Pamela; I have something to say to you; and you always fly me so, whenever I come near you, as if you was afraid of me.
I was all confounded; and said at last; It does not become your poor Servant to stay in your Presence, Sir, without your Business requir'd it; and I hope I shall always know my Place.
Well, says he, my Business does require it sometimes, and I have a mind you should stay to hear what I have to say to you.
I stood all confounded, and began to tremble, and the more when he took me by the Hand; for now no Soul was near us.
My Sister Davers, said he, (and seem'd, I thought, to be as much at a Loss for Words as I) would have had you live with her; but she would not do for you what I am resolv'd to do, if you continue faithful and obliging. What say'st thou, my Girl, said he, with some Eagerness, hadst thou not rather stay with me than go to my Sister Davers? He look'd so, as fill'd me with Affrightment; I don't know how; wildly I thought.
I said, when I could speak, Your Honour will forgive your poor Servant; but as you have no Lady for me to wait upon, and my good Lady has been now dead this Twelve-month, I had rather, if it would not displease you, wait upon Lady Davers, because—
I was proceeding; and he said a little hastily— Because you're a little Fool, and know not what's good for yourself. I tell you, I will make a Gentlewoman of you, if you be 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 struggled, and trembled, and was so benumb'd with Terror, that I sunk down, not in a Fit, and yet not myself; and I found myself in his Arms, quite void of Strength, and he kissed me two or three times, as if he would have eaten me. —At last 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 said, I won't stay! You won't, Hussy, said he! Do you know who you speak to! I lost all Fear, and all Respect, and said, Yes, I do, Sir, too well! —Well may I forget that I am your Servant, when you forget what belongs to a Master.
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 what belongs to me, and have lessen'd the Distance that Fortune has made between us, by demeaning yourself, to be so free to a poor Servant. Yet, Sir, said I, I will be so bold to say, I am honest, tho' poor; And if you was a Prince, I would not be otherwise.
He was angry, and said, Who would have you otherwise, you foolish Slut! Ceafe your blubbering! I own I have demean'd 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, said he, putting some Gold in my Hand, to make you Amends for the Fright I put you to. Go, take a Walk in the Garden, and don't go in till your blubbering is over: And I charge you say nothing of what has past, and all shall be well, and I'll forgive you.
I won't take the Money, indeed, Sir, said I; poor as I am! I won't take it: for to say Truth, I thought it look'd like taking Earnest; and so I put it upon the Bench; and as he seem'd vex'd and confus'd at what he had done, I took the Opportunity to open the Door, and went out of the Summer-house.
He called to me, and said, Be secret, I charge you, Pamela; and don't go in yet, as I told you.
O how poor and mean must these Actions be, and how little must they make the best of Gentlemen look, when they offer such things as are unworthy of themselves, and put it into the Power of their Inferiors to be greater than they!
I took a Turn or two in the Garden, but in Sight of the House for fear of the worst, and breathed upon my Hand to dry my Eyes, because I would not be too disobedient. My next shall tell you more.
Pray for me, my dear Father and Mother; and don't be angry I have not yet run away from this House, so late my Comfort and Delight, but now my Anguish and Terror. I am forc'd to break off, hastily,
Your dutiful and honest Daughter.
Dear Mother, Well, I will now proceed with my sad Story. And so after I had dry'd my Eyes, I went in, and begun to ruminate with myself what I had best to do. Sometimes I thought I would leave the House, and go to the next Town, and wait an Opportunity to get to you; but then I was at a Loss to resolve whether to take away the Things he had given me or no, and how to take them away: Sometimes I thought to leave them behind me, and only go with the Cloaths on my Back; but then I had two Miles and a half, and a By-way, to go to the Town; and being pretty well dress'd, I might come to some harm, almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then may-be, thought I, it will be reported, I have stolen something, and so was forc'd to run away; and to carry a bad Name back with me to my dear poor Parents, would be a sad thing indeed! —O how I wish'd for my grey Russet again, and my poor honest Dress, with which you fitted me out, and hard enough too you had to do it, God knows, for going to this Place, when I was but twelve Years old, in my good Lady's Days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs. Jervis, and taking her Advice, and only feared his Command, to be secret; for, thought I, he may be ashamed of his Actions, and never attempt the like again: And as poor Mrs. Jervis depended upon him, thro' Misfortunes that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad thing to bring his Displeasure upon her for my sake.
In this Quandary, now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to do, I pass'd the Time in my Chamber till Evening; when desiring to be excused going to Supper, Mrs. Jervis came up to me; and said, Why must I sup without you, Pamela? Come, I see you are troubled at something; tell me what is the Matter.
I begg'd I might be permitted to lie with her on Nights; for I was afraid of Spirits, and they would not hurt such a good Person as she. That was a silly Excuse, she said; for why was you not afraid of Spirits before? Indeed I did not think of that. But you shall be my Bedfellow with all my Heart, said she, let your Reason be what it will; only come down to Supper. I begg'd to be excus'd; for, said I, I have been crying so, that it will be taken Notice of by my Fellow-servants; and I will hide nothing from you, Mrs. Jervis, when we are a-bed.
She was so good to indulge me, and went down to Supper; but made more haste to come up to-bed; and told the Servants, that I should lie with her, because she said she could not rest well, and she would get me to read her to sleep, because she knew I lov'd reading, as she said.
When we were alone, I told her every bit and crumb of the Matter; for I thought, tho' he had bid me not, yet if he should come to know I had told, it would be no worse; for to keep a Secret of such a Nature, I thought would be to deprive myself of the good Advice which I never wanted more; and might encourage him to think I did not resent it as I ought, and would keep worse Secrets, and so make him do worse by me. Was I right, my dear Mother?
Mrs. Jervis could not help mingling Tears with my Tears; for I cry'd all the Time I told her the Story; and begg'd her to advise me what to do; and I shew'd her my dear Father's two Letters, and she praised the Honesty and Inditing of them; and said pleasing things to me of you both. But she begg'd I would not think of leaving my Service; for, says she, in all Likelihood, you behav'd so virtuously that he will be asham'd of what he has done, and never offer the like to you again: Tho', my dear Pamela, said she, I fear more for your Prettiness than for any thing else; because the best Man in the Land might love you; so she was pleased to say. She said she wished it was in her Power to live independent; that then she would take a little private House, and I should live with her like her Daughter.
And so, as you order'd me to take her Advice, I resolved to tarry to see how things went, without he was to turn me away; altho', in your first Letter, you order'd me to come away the Moment I had any Reason to be apprehensive. So, dear Father and Mother, it is not Disobedience, I hope, that I stay; for I could not expect a Blessing, or the good Fruits of your Prayers for me, if I was disobedient.
All the next Day I was very sad, and began to write my long Letter. He saw me writing, and said (as I mention'd) to Mrs. Jervis, That Girl is alwas scribbling; methinks she might find something else to do, or to that purpose. And when I had finish'd my Letter, I put it under the Toilet, in my late Lady's Dressing-room, where nobody comes but myself and Mrs. Jervis, besides my Master; but when I came up again to seal it up, to my great Concern it was gone; and Mrs. Jervis knew nothing of it; and nobody knew of my Master's having been near the Place in the time; so I have been sadly troubled about it: But Mrs. Jervis, as well as I, thinks he has it some how or other; and he appears cross and angry, and seems to shun me, as much as he said I did him. It had better be so than worse!
But he has order'd Mrs. Jervis to bid me not spend so much time in writing; which is a poor Matter for such a Gentleman as he to take notice of, as I am not idle otherways, if he did not resent what he thought I wrote upon. And this has no very good Look.
But I am a good deal easier since I lie with Mrs. Jervis; tho' after all, the Fears I live in on one side, and his Frowning and Displeasure at what I do on the other, makes me more miserable than enough.
O that I had never left my Rags nor my Poverty, to be thus expos'd to Temptations on one hand, or Disgusts on the other! How happy was I a-while ago! How miserable now! —Pity and pray for
Your afflicted Pamela.
My dearest Child, Our hearts bleed for your Distress, and the Temptations you are tried with. You have our hourly Prayers; and we would have you flee this evil Great House and Man, if you find he renews his Attempts. You ought to have done it at first, had you not had Mrs. Jervis to advise with. We can find no Fault in your Conduct hitherto: But it makes our Hearts ake for fear of the worst. O my Child! Temptations are sore things; but yet without them, we know not our selves, nor what we are able to do.
Your Temptations are very great; for you have Riches, Youth, and a fine Gentleman, as the World reckons him, to withstand; but how great will be your Honour to withstand them! And when we consider your past Conduct, and your virtuous Education, and that you have been bred to be more asham'd of Dishonesty than Poverty, we trust in God that he will enable you to overcome. Yet, as we can't see but your Life must be a Burden to you, through the great Apprehensions always upon you; and that it may be presumptuous to trust too much to your own Strength; and that you are but very young; and the Devil may put it into his Head to use some Stratagem, of which great Men are full, to decoy you; I think you had best come home to share our Poverty with Safety, than to live with so much Discontent in a Plenty, that itself may be dangerous. God direct you for the best. While you have Mrs. Jervis for an Adviser, and Bedfellow, (and, O my dear Child, that was prudently done of you) we are easier than we should be; and so committing you to God's blessed Protection, remain
Your truly loving, but careful, Father and Mother.
Dear Father and Mother, Mrs. Jervis and I have liv'd very comfortably together for this Fortnight past; for my Master was all that time at his Lincolnshire Estate, and at his Sister's the Lady Davers. But he came home Yesterday. He had some Talk with Mrs. Jervis soon after he came home; and mostly about me. He said to her, it seems, Well, Mrs. Jervis, I know Pamela has your good Word; but do you think her of any Use in the Family? She told me, she was surpris'd at the Question; but said, That I was one of the most virtuous and industrious young Creatures that ever she knew. Why that Word virtuous, said he, I pray you? Was there any Reason to suppose her otherwise? Or has any body taken it into their Heads to try her? —I wonder, Sir, says she, you ask me such a Question! Who dare offer any thing to her in such an orderly and well-govern'd House as yours, and under a Master of so good a Character for Virtue and Honour? Your Servant, Mrs. Jervis, says he, for your good Opinion; but pray, if any body did, do you think Pamela would let you know it? Why, Sir, said she; she is a poor innocent young Thing, and I believe has so much Confidence in me, that she would take my Advice as soon as she would her Mother's. Innocent! again; and virtuous, I warrant! Well, Mrs. Jervis, you abound with your Epithets; but'tis my Opinion, she is an artful young Baggage; and had I a young handsome Butler or Steward, she'd soon make her Market of one of them, if she thought it worth while to snap at him for a Husband. Alack-a-day, Sir, said she, 'tis early Days with Pamela, and she does not yet think of a Husband, I dare say: And your Steward and Butler are both Men in Years, and think nothing of the Matter. No, said he, if they were younger, they'd have more Wit than to think of such a Girl. I'll tell you my Mind of her Mrs. Jervis, I don't think this same Favourite of yours so very artless a Girl, as you imagine. I am not to dispute with your Honour about her, said Mrs. Jervis; but I dare say, if the Men will let her alone, she'll never trouble herself about them. Why, Mrs. Jervis, said he, are there any Men that will not let her alone that you know of? No, indeed, Sir, said she; she keeps herself so much to herself, and yet behaves so prudently, that they all esteem her, and shew her as great Respect as if she was a Gentlewoman born.
Ay, says he, that's her Art, that I was speaking of: But let me tell you, the Girl has Vanity and Conceit, and Pride too, or I am mistaken; and I could give you perhaps an Instance of it. Sir, said she, you can see further than such a poor silly Woman as me; but I never saw any thing but Innocence in her. —And Virtue too, I'll warrant ye, said he. But suppose I could give you an Instance, where she has talk'd a little too freely of the Kindnesses that have been shew'd her from a certain Quarter; and has had the Vanity to impute a few kind Words utter'd in mere Compassion to her Youth and Circumstances, into a Design upon her, and even dar'd to make free with Names that she ought never to mention but with Reverence and Gratitude; what would you say to that? —Say, Sir! said she, I cannot tell what to say. But I hope Pamela incapable of such Ingratitude.
Well, no more of this silly Girl, says he; you may only advise her, as you are her Friend, not to give herself too much Licence upon the Favours she meets with; and if she stays here, that she will not write the Affairs of my Family purely for an Exercise to her Pen and her Invention. I tell you, she is a subtle artful Gypsey, and time will shew it you.
Was ever the like heard, my dear Father and Mother? It is plain he did not expect to meet with such a Repulse, and mistrusts that I have told Mrs. Jervis, and has my long Letter too that I intended for you; and so is vex'd to the Heart. But, however, I can't help it. So I had better be thought artful and subtle, than be so, in his Sense; and as light as he makes of the Words Virtue and Innocence in me, he would have made a less angry Construction, had I less deserved that he should do so; for then, may be, my Crime would have been my Virtue with him; naughty Gentleman as he is! —I will soon write again; but must now end with saying, That I am, and shall always be,
Your honest Daughter.
Dear Mother, I Broke off abruptly my last Letter; for I fear'd he was coming; and so it happen'd. I thrust the Letter into my Bosom, and took up my Work, which say by me; but I had so little of the Artful, as he called it, that I look'd as confused, as if I had been doing some great Harm.
Sit still, Pamela, said he, and mind your Work, for all me. —You don't tell me I am welcome home after my Journey to Lincolnshire. It would be hard, Sir, said I, if you was not always welcome to your Honour's own House.
I would have gone; but he said, Don't run away, I tell you. I have a Word or two to say to you. Good Sirs, how my Heart went pit-a-pat! When I was a little kind, said he, to you in the Summerhouse, and you carry'd yourself so foolishly upon it, as if I had intended to do you great harm, did I not tell you, you should take no Notice of what pass'd, to any Creature? And yet you have made a common Talk of the Matter, not considering either my Reputation or your own. —I made a common Talk of it, Sir, said I! I have nobody to talk to, hardly!
He interrupted me, and said, Hardly! you little Equivocator! what do you mean by hardly? Let me ask you, Have you not told Mrs. Jervis for one? Pray your Honour, said I, all in Agitation, let me go down; for 'tis not for me to hold an Argument with your Honour. Equivocator, again! said he, and took my Hand, what do you talk of an Argument? Is it holding an Argument with me, to answer a plain Question? Answer me what I asked. O good, Sir, said I, let me beg you will not urge me further, for fear I forget myself again, and be sawcy.
Answer me then, I bid you, says he, Have you told Mrs. Jervis? It will be sawcy in you, if you don't answer me directly to what I ask. Sir, said I, and fain would have pulled my Hand away, may be I should be for answering you by another Question, and that would not become me. What is it, says he, you would say? Speak out!
Then, Sir, said I, why should your Honour be so angry I should tell Mrs. Jervis, or any body else, what passed, if you intended no harm?
Well said, pretty Innocent and Artless! as Mrs. Jervis calls you, said he; and is it thus you taunt and retort upon me, insolent as you are! But still I will be answered directly to my Question? Why then, Sir, said I, I will not tell a Lye for the World: I did tell Mrs. Jervis; for my Heart was almost broke; but I open'd not my Mouth to any other. Very well, Boldface, said he, and Equivocator, again! You did not open your Mouth to any other; but did you not write to some other? Why now, and please your Honour, said I, (for I was quite courageous just then) you could not have asked me this Question, if you had not taken from me my Letter to my Father and Mother, in which, I own, I had broke my Mind freely to them, and asked their Advice, and poured forth my Griefs!
And so I am to be exposed, am I, said he, in my House, and out of my House, to the whole World, by such a Sawcebox as you? No, good Sir, said I, and I hope your Honour won't be angry with me; it is not me that expose you if I say nothing but the Truth. So, taunting again! Assurances as you are, said he! I will not be thus talk'd to.
Pray, Sir, said I, who can a poor Girl take Advice of, if it must not be of her Father and Mother, and such a good Woman as Mrs. Jervis, who for her Sex-sake, should give it me when asked? Insolence! said he, and stamp'd with his Foot, Am I to be question'd thus by such a one as you? I fell down on my Knees, and said, For God's sake, your Honour, pity a poor distressed Creature, that knows nothing of her Duty, but how to cherish her Virtue and good Name! I have nothing else to trust to; and tho' poor and friendless here, yet I have always been taught to value Honesty above my Life. Here's ado with your Honesty, said he, foolish Girl! Is it not one Part of Honesty, to be dutiful and grateful to your Master, do you think? Indeed, Sir, said I, it is impossible I should be ingrateful to your Honour, or disobedient, or deserve the Names of Boldface and Insolent, which you call me, but when your Commands are contrary to that first Duty, which shall ever be the Principle of my Life!
He seem'd to be moved, and rose up, and walked into the great Chamber two or three Turns, leaving me on my Knees; and I threw my Apron over my Face, and laid my Head on a Chair, and cry'd as if my Heart would break, having no Power to stir.
At last he came in again, but, alas! with Mischief in his Heart! and raising me up, he said, Rise, Pamela, rise; you are your own Enemy. Your perverse Folly will be your Ruin! I tell you this, that I am very much displeased with the Freedoms you have taken with my Name to my House-keeper, as also to your Father and Mother; and you may as well have real Cause to take these Freedoms with me, as to make my Name suffer for imaginary ones: And saying so, he offer'd to take me on his Knee, with some Force. O how I was terrify'd! I said, like as I had read in a Book a Night or two before, Angels, and Saints, and all the Host of Heaven, defend me! And may I never survive one Moment, that fatal one in which I shall forfeit my Innocence. Pretty Fool! said he, how will you forfeit your Innocence, if you are oblig'd to yield to a Force you cannot withstand? Be easy, said he; for let the worst happen that can, you'll have the Merit, and I the Blame; and it will be a good Subject for Letters to your Father and Mother, and a Tale into the Bargain for Mrs. Jervis.
He by Force kissed my Neck and Lips; and said, Who ever blamed Lucretia, but the Ravisber only? and I am content to take all the Blame upon me; as I have already borne too great a Share for what I have deserv'd. May I, said I, Lucretia like, justify myself with my Death, if I am used barbarously? O my good Girl! said he, tauntingly, you are well read, I see; and we shall make out between us, before we have done, a pretty Story in Romance, I warrant ye!
He then put his Hand in my Bosom, and the Indignation gave me double Strength, and I got loose from him, by a sudden Spring, and ran out of the Room; and the next Chamber being open, I made shift to get into it and threw-to the Door, and the Key being on the Inside, it locked; but he follow'd me so close, he got hold of my Gown, and tore a Piece off, which hung without the Door.
I just remember I got into the Room; for I knew nothing further of the Matter till afterwards; for I fell into a Fit with my Fright and Terror, and there I lay, till he, as I suppose, looking through the Key-hole, spy'd me lying all along upon the Floor, stretch'd out at my Length; and then he call'd Mrs. Jervis to me, who, by his Assistance, bursting open the Door, he went away, seeing me coming to myself; and bid her say nothing of the Matter, if she was wise.
Poor Mrs. Jervis thought it was worse, and cry'd over me like as if she was my Mother; and I was two Hours before I came to myself; and just as I got a little up on my Feet, he coming in, I went away again with the Terror; and so he withdrew again: But he staid in the next Room to let nobody come near us, that his foul Proceedings might not be known.
Mrs. Jervis gave me her Smelling-bottle, and had cut my Laces, and sat me in a great Chair, and he call'd her to him: How is the Girl, said he? I never saw such a Fool in my Life. I did nothing at all to her. Mrs. Jervis could not speak for crying. So, he said, she has told you, it seems, that I was kind to her in the Summer-house, tho' I'll assure you, I was quite innocent then as well as now; and I desire you to keep this Matter to yourself, and let me not be nam'd in it.
O Sir, said she, for your Honour's sake, and for Christ's sake—But he would not hear her, and said—For your own sake, I tell you, Mrs. Jervis, say not a Word more. I have done her no harm. And I won't have her stay in my House; prating, perverse Fool, as she is! But since she is so apt to fall into Fits, or at least pretend to do so, prepare her to see me To-morrow after Dinner, in my Mother's Closer, and do you be with her, and you shall hear what passes between us.
And so he went out in a Pet, and order'd his Chariot and Four to be got ready, and went away a Visiting somewhere.
Mrs. Jervis then came to me, and I told her all that had happen'd, and said I was resolv'd not to stay in the House; and she saying, He seem'd to threaten as much; I said, Thank God; then I shall be easy: So she told me all he had said to her, as I have said above.
Mrs. Jervis is very loth I should go; and yet, poor Woman! she begins to be afraid for herself; but would not have me ruin'd for the World. She says, To be sure he means no good; but may be, now he sees me so resolute, he will give over all Attempts: And that I shall know what to do better after To-morrow, when I am to appear before a very bad Judge, I doubt!
O how I dread this To-morrow's Appearance! But be assured, my dear Parents, of the Honesty of your poor Child! As I am sure I am of your Prayers for
Your dutiful Daughter.
Oh! this frightful To-morrow! how I dread it!
My dear Parents, I Know you longed to hear from me soon. I send as soon as I could.
Well, you may believe how uneasily I passed the Time till his appointed Hour came. Every Minute, as it grew nearer, my Terrors increased; and sometimes I had great Courage, and sometimes none at all; and I thought I should faint when it came to the Time my Master had dined. I could neither eat nor drink, for my part; and do what I could, my Eyes were swell'd with crying.
At last he went up to the Closet, which was my good Lady's Dressing-room; a Room I once lov'd, but then as much hated.
Don't your Heart ake for me? —I am sure mine flutter'd about like a Bird in a Cage new caught. O Pamela, said I to my self, why art thou so foolish and fearful! Thou hast done no harm! what, if thou fearest an unjust Judge, when thou art innocent, wouldst thou do before a just one, if thou wert guilty? Have Courage, Pamela, thou knowest the worst! And how easy a Choice Poverty and Honesty is, rather than Plenty and Wickedness?
So I chear'd myself; but yet my poor Heart sunk, and my Spirits were quite broken. Every thing that stirred, I thought was to call me to my Account. I dreaded it, and yet I wished it to come.
Well, at last he rung the Bell; O thought I, that it was my Passing-bell! Mrs. Jervis went up, with a full Heart enough, poor good Woman! He said, Where's Pamela? let her come up, and do you come with her. She came to me; I was ready to come with my Feet, but my Heart was with my dear Father and Mother, wishing to share your Poverty and Happiness. But I went.
O how can wicked Men look so steddy and untouch'd, with such black Hearts, while poor Innocents look like Malefactors before them!
He looked so stern, that my Heart failed me, and I wish'd myself any-where but there, tho' I had before been summoning up all my Courage. Good God of Heaven, said I to myself, give me Courage to stand before this naughty Master! O soften him! or harden me!
Come in, Fool, said he, angrily, as soon as he saw me (and snatch'd my Hand with a Pull); you may well be asham'd to see me, after your Noise and Nonsense, and exposing me as you have done. I ashamed to see you! thought I: Very pretty indeed! — But I said nothing.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, here you are both together. Do you sit down; but let her stand if she will: Ay, thought I, if I can; for my Knees beat one against another. Did you not think, when you saw the Girl in the way you found her in, that I had given her the greatest Occasion that could possibly be given any Woman? And that I had actually ruin'd her, as she calls it? Tell me, could you think any thing less? Indeed, says she, I fear'd so at first. Has she told you what I did to her, and all I did to her, to occasion all this Folly, by which my Reputation might have suffer'd in your Opinion, and in that of all the Family? —Tell me, what has she told you?
She was a little too much frighted, as she owned afterwards, at his Sternness, and said, Indeed she told me you only pulled her on your Knee, and kissed her.
Then I plucked up my Spirit a little. Only! Mrs. Jervis, said I, and was not that enough to shew me what I had to fear! When a Master of his Honour's Degree demeans himself to be so free as that to such a poor Servant as me, what is the next to be expected? —But your Honour went further, so you did; and threaten'd what you would do, and talk'd of Lucretia, and her hard Fate. —Your Honour knows you went too far for a Master to a Servant, or even to his Equal; and I cannot bear it! So I fell a crying most sadly.
Mrs. Jervis began to excuse me, and to beg he would pity a poor Maiden, that had such a Value for her Reputation. He said, I speak it to her Face, I think her very pretty, and I thought her humble, and one that would not grow upon my Favours, or the Notice I took of her; but I abhor the Thought of forcing her to any thing. I know myself better, said he, and what belongs to me: And to be sure I have enough demean'd myself to take so much Notice of such a one as she; but I was bewitch'd, I think, by her, to be freer than became me; tho' I had no Intention to carry the Jest farther.
What poor Stuff was all this, my dear Mother, from a Man of his Sense! But see how a bad Cause and bad Actions confound the greatest Wits! —It gave me a little more Courage then; for Innocence, I find, in a weak Mind, has many Advantages over Guilt, with all its Riches and Wisdom!
So I said, Your Honour may call this Jest or Sport, or what you please; but indeed, Sir, it is not a Jest that becomes the Distance between a Master and a Servant! Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, said he? Do you hear the Pertness of the Creature? I had a good deal of this Sort before in the Summer-house, and Yesterday too, which made me rougher to her than perhaps I had otherwise been.
Says Mrs. Jervis, Pamela, don't be pert to his Honour! You should know your Distance; you see his Honour was only in jest! —O dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, don't you blame me too! It is very difficult to keep one's Distance to the greatest of Men, when they won't keep it themselves to their meanest Servants!
See again, said he; could you believe this of the young Baggage, if you had not heard it. O good your Honour, said the well-meaning Gentlewoman, pity and forgive the poor Girl; she is but a Girl; and her Virtue is very dear to her; and I will pawn my Life for her, she will never be pert to your Honour, if you'll be so good as to molest her no more, nor frighten her again. Said she, You see how, by her Fit, she was in Terror; she could not help it; and tho' your Honour intended her no harm; yet the Apprehension was almost Death to her: And I had much ado to bring her to herself again. O the little Hypocrite, said he! she has all the Arts of her Sex; they are born with her; and I told you a-while ago, you did not know her. But, said he, this was not the Reason principally of my calling you before me both together: I find I am likely to suffer in my Reputation by the Perverseness and Folly of this Girl. She has told you all, and perhaps more than all; nay, I make no doubt of it; and she has written Letters; for I find she is a mighty Letter-writer! to her Father and Mother, and others, as far as I know; in which she makes herself an Angel of Light, and me, her kind Master and Benefactor, a Devil incarnate! —(O how People will sometimes, thought I, call themselves by the right Names!—) And all this I won't bear; and so I am resolv'd she shall return to the Distresses and Poverty she was taken from; and let her take care how she uses my Name with Freedom, when she is gone from me.
I was brighten'd up at once upon these welcome Words: And I threw myself upon my Knees at his Feet, with a most sincere, glad Heart; and I said, God Almighty bless your Honour for your Resolution: Now I shall be happy; and permit me, on my bended Knees, to thank your Honour for all the Benefits and Favours you have heaped upon me: For the Opportunities I have had of Improvement and Learning; through my good Lady's Means, and yours. I will now forget all your Honour has done to me: And I promise you, that I will never take your Name in my Lips, but with Reverence and Gratitude: And so God Almighty bless your Honour, for ever and ever, Amen! —And so I got up, and went away with another-guise sort of Heart than I came into his Presence with. And so I fell to writing this Letter. And thank God all is over.
And now my dearest Father and Mother, expect to see soon your poor Daughter, with an humble and dutiful Mind, return'd to you: And don't fear but I know how to be happy with you as ever: For I will lie in the Loft, as I used to do; and pray let the little Bed be got ready; and I have a little Money, which will buy me a Suit of Cloaths, fitter for my Condition than what I have; and I will get Mrs. Mumford to help me to some Needle-work; and fear not that I shall be a Burden to you, if my Health continues; and I know God will bless me, if not for my own sake, for both your sakes, who have, in all your Trials and Misfortunes, preserved so much Integrity, as makes every body speak well of you both. But I hope he will let good Mrs. Jervis give me a Character, for fear it should be thought I was turn'd away for Dishonesty.
And so God bless you both, and may you be blest for me, and I blest for you: And I will always bless my Master and Mrs. Jervis. And so good Night; for it is late, and I shall be soon called to-bed.
I hope Mrs. Jervis is not angry with me, because she has not called me to Supper with her; tho' I could eat nothing if she had. But I make no doubt I shall sleep purely to Night, and dream that I am with you, in my dear, dear, happy Loft once more.
So, good Night again, my dear Father and Mother, says
Your honest poor Daughter.
My dearest Daughter, Welcome, welcome, ten times welcome, shall you be to us; for you come to us innocent, and happy, and honest; and you are the Staff of our Old-age, and our Comfort too. And tho' we cannot do for you as we would, yet we doubt not we shall live comfortably together, and what with my diligent Labour, and your poor Mother's Spinning, and your Needle-work, I make no doubt we shall live better and better. Only your poor Mother's Eyes begin to fail her; tho' I bless God, I am as strong, and able, and willing to labour as ever; and Oh my dear Child, your Virtue has made me, I think, stronger and better than I was before. What blessed Things are Trials and Temptations to us, when they be overcome!
But I am thinking about those same four Guineas: I think you should give them back again to your Master; and yet I have broke them. Alas! I have only three left; but I will borrow it if I can, Part upon my Wages, and Part of Mrs. Mumford, and send it to you, that you may return it, against John comes next, if he comes again, before you.
I want to know how you come. I fansy honest John will be glad to bear you Company Part of the Way, if your Master is not so cross as to forbid him. And if I know time enough, your Mother will go one five Miles, and I will go ten on the Way, or till I meet you, as far as one Holiday will go: For that I can get Leave for; and we shall receive you with more Pleasure than we had at your Birth, when all the worst was over; or than we ever had in our Lives.
And so God bless you, till the happy Time comes; say both your Mother and I; which is all at present, from
Your truly loving Parents.
Dear Father and Mother, I Thank you a thousand times for your Goodness to me, express'd in your last Letter. I now long to get my Business done, and come to my New-Old Lot, again, as I may call it. I have been quite another thing since my Master has turn'd me off; and as I shall come to you an honest Daughter, what Pleasure it is to what I should have, if I could not have seen you but as a guilty one! Well, my writing Time will soon be over, and so I will make Use of it now, and tell you all that has happen'd since my last Letter.
I wonder'd Mrs. Jervis did not call me to sup with her, and fear'd she was angry; and when I had finish'd my Letter, I long'd for her coming to Bed. At last she came up, but seem'd shy and reserv'd; and I said, O my dear Mrs. Jervis, I am glad to see you: you are not angry with me, I hope. She said she was sorry Things went so far; and that she had a great deal of Talk with my Master after I was gone. She said, he seem'd mov'd at what I said, and at my falling on my Knees to him, and my Prayer for him, at my going away. He said, I was a strange Girl; he knew not what to make of me: And is she gone? said he: I intended to say something else to her, but she behav'd so oddly, that I had not Power to stop her. She ask'd if she should call me again. He said, Yes; and then, No, let her go; it is best for her and me too, that she shall go now I have given her Warning. But where she had, it I can't tell; but I never met with the Fellow of her in my Life, at any Age. She said, he had order'd her not to tell me all: but she believ'd he never would offer any thing to me again, and I might stay, she fansy'd, if I would beg it as a Favour; tho' she was not sure neither.
I stay! dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, why 'tis the best News that could have come to me, that he will let me go. I do nothing but long to go back again to my Poverty and Distress, as he said I should; for, tho' I am sure of the Poverty, I shall not have Half the Distress I have had for some Months past, I'll assure you.
Mrs. Jervis, dear good Soul, wept over me, and said, Well, well, Pamela, I did not think I had shew'd so little Love to you, as that you should express so much Joy to leave me. I am sure I never had a Child half so dear to me as you!
I cry'd to hear her so good to me, as indeed she has always been; and said, What would you have me to do, dear Mrs. Jervis? I love you next to my own Father and Mother, and you are the chief Concern I have to leave this Place; but I am sure it is certain Ruin if I stay. After such Offers, and such Threatenings, and his comparing himself to a wicked Ravisher, in the very Time of his last Offer; and making a Jest of me, that we should make a pretty Story in Romances; can I stay, and be safe? Has he not demean'd himself twice? and it behoves me to beware of the third Time, for fear he should lay his Snares surer; for may-hap he did not expect a poor Servant would resist her Master so much. And must it not be look'd upon as a sort of Warrant for such Actions, if I stay after this? for I think, when one of our Sex finds she is attempted, it is an Encouragement to a Person to proceed, if one puts one's self in the Way of it, when one can help it; and it shews one can forgive what in short ought not to be forgiven. Which is no small Countenance to foul Actions, I'll assure you.
She hugg'd me to her, and said, I'll assure you! Pretty-face, where gottest thou all thy Knowledge, and thy good Notions, at these Years? Thou art a Miracle for thy Age, and I shall always love thee! But, do you resolve to leave us, Pamela?
Yes, my dear Mrs. Jervis, said I; for as Matters stand, how can I do otherwise? —But I'll do all the Duties of my Place first, if I may. And I hope you'll give me a Character as to my Honesty, as it may not look as if I was turn'd away for any Harm. Ay, that I will, said she; I will give thee such a Character as never Girl at thy Years deserv'd. And I am sure, said I, I will always love and honour you, as my third best Friend, whenever I go, or whatever becomes of me.
And so we went to Bed, and I never wak'd 'till 'twas Time to rise; which I did, as blyth as a Bird, and went about my Business with great Pleasure.
But I believe my Master is fearfully angry with me; for he past by me two or three times, and would not speak to me; and towards Evening he met me in the Passage, going into the Garden, and said such a Word to me as I never heard in my Life from him, to Man, Woman or Child; for he first said, This Creature's always in my way, I think! I said, standing up as close as I could, and the Entry was wide enough for a Coach too, I hope I shan't be long in your Honcur's Way. D—n you! said he, (that was the hard Word) for a little Witch; I have no Patience with you.
I profess I trembled to hear him say so; but I saw he was vex'd, and as I am going away, I minded it the less. But I see, my dear Parents, that when a Person will do wicked Things, it is no Wonder he will speak wicked Words. And so I rest
Your dutiful Daughter.
Dear Father and Mother, Our John having no Opportunity to go your Way, I write again, and send both Letters at once. I can't say yet when I can get away, nor how I shall come; because Mrs- Jervis shew'd my Master the Waistcoat I am flowering for him, and he said, It looks well enough, I think the Creature had best stay till she has finish'd it.
There is some private Talk carry'd on betwixt him and Mrs. Jervis, that she don't tell me of; but yet she is very kind to me, and I don't mistrust her at all. I should be very base if I did. But to be sure she must oblige him, and keep all his lawful Commands; and other, I dare say, she won't keep; she is too good, and loves me too well; but she must stay when I am gone, and so must get no Ill-will.
She has been at me again to ask to stay, and humble myself, as she says. But what have I done, Mrs. Jervis, said I? If I have been a Sawce-box, and a Bold-face, and Pert, and a Creature, as he calls me, have I not had Reason? Do you think I should ever have forgot myself, if he had not forgot to act as my Master? Tell me, from your own Heart, dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, if you think I could stay and be safe? What would you think, or how would you act in my Case?
My dear Pamela, said she, and kiss'd me, I don't know how I should act, or what I should think. I hope I should act as you do. But I know nobody else that would. My Master is a fine Gentleman; he has a great deal of Wit and Sense, and is admir'd, as I know, by half a dozen Ladies, who would think themselves happy in his Addresses. He has a noble Estate; and yet I believe he loves my good Maiden, tho' his Servant, better than all the Ladies in the Land; and he has try'd to overcome it, because he knows you are so much his Inferior; and 'tis my Opinion he finds he can't; and that vexes his proud Heart, and makes him resolve you shan't stay; and so he speaks so cross to you, when he sees you by Accident.
Well, but, Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you, if he can stoop to like such a poor Girl as I, as may be he may, for I have read of Things almost as strange, from great Men to poor Damsels; What can it be for? —He may condescend, may-hap, to think I may be good enough for his Harlot; and those Things don't disgrace Men, that ruin poor Women, as the World goes. And so, if I was wicked enough, he would keep me till I was undone, and 'till his Mind changed; for even wicked Men, I have read, soon grow weary of Wickedness of one Sort, and love Variety. Well then, poor Pamela must be turn'd off, and look'd upon as a vile abandon'd Creature, and every body would despise her; ay, and justly too, Mrs. Jervis; for she that can't keep her Virtue, ought to live in Disgrace.
But, Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me tell you, that I hope, if I was sure he would always be kind to me, and never turn me off at all, that God will give me his Grace, so as to hate and withstand his Temptations, were he not only my Master, but my King, for the Sin's sake; and this my poor dear Parents have always taught me; and I should be a sad wicked Creature indeed, if, for the sake of Riches or Favour, I should forfeit my good Name: yea, and worse than any other young body of my Sex; because I can so contentedly return to my Poverty again, and think it less Disgrace to be oblig'd to wear Rags, and live upon Rye-bread and Water, as I use to do, than to be a Harlot to the greatest Man in the World.
Good Mrs. Jervis lifted up her Hands, and had her Eyes full of Tears: God bless you, my dear Love, said she; you are my Admiration and Delight! — How shall I do to part with you?
Well, good Mrs. Jervis, said I, let me ask you now: —You and he have some Talk, and you mayn't be suffer'd to tell me all. But, do you think, if I was to ask to stay, that he is sorry for what he has done! ay, and asbam'd of it too! for I am sure he ought, considering his high Degree, and my low Degree, and how I have nothing in the World to trust to but my Honesty! Do you think in your own Conscience now, pray answer me truly; that he would never offer any thing to me again; and that I could be safe?
Alas! my dear Child, said she, don't put thy home Questions to me, with that pretty becoming Earnestness in thy Look. I know this, that he is vex'd at what he has done; he was vex'd the first Time, more vex'd the second Time.
Yes, said I, and so he will be vex'd I suppose the third, and the fourth Time too, 'till he has quite ruin'd your poor Maiden, and who will have Cause to be vex'd then?
Nay, Pamela, said she, don't imagine that I would be accessary to your Ruin for the World. I only can say, that he has yet done you no Hurt; and 'tis no Wonder that he should love you, you are so pretty; tho' so much beneath him: But I dare swear for him, he never will offer you any Force.
You say, said I, that he was sorry for his first Offer in the Summer-house; well, and how long did his Sorrow last? —Only 'till he found me by myself; and then he was worse than before: and so became sorry again. And if he has deign'd to love me, and you say can't help it, why he can't help it neither, if he should have an Opportunity, a third time to distress me. And I have read, that many a Man has been asham'd at a Repulse, that never would, had they succeeded. Besides, Mrs. Jervis, if he really intends to offer no Force, What does that mean? — While you say he can't help liking me, for Love it cannot be! —Does not it imply, that he hopes to ruin me by my own Consent? I think, said I, (and I hope God would give me Grace to do so) that I should not give way to his Temptations on any Account; but it would be very presumptuous in me to rely upon my own Strength, against a Gentleman of his Qualifications and Estate, and who is my Master; and thinks himself intitled to call me Bold-face, and what not; only for standing on my necessary Defence? And that where the Good of my Soul and Body, and my Duty to God, and my Parents, are all concerned. How then, Mrs. Jervis, said I can I ask or wish to stay?
Well, well, says she; as he seems very desirous you should not stay, I hope it is from a good Motive; for fear he should be tempted to disgrace himself as well as you. No, no, Mrs. Jervis, said I; I have thought of that too, for I would be glad to think of him with that Duty that becomes me; but then he would have let me gone to Lady Davers, and not have hinder'd my Preferment. And he would not have said, I should return to my Poverty and Distress, when I had been, by his Mother's Goodness, lifted out of it; but that he intended to fright me, and punish me, as he thought, for not complying with his Wickedness: And this shews me enough what I have to expect from his future Goodness, except I will deserve it at his own dear, dear Price!
She was silent, and I said, Well there's no more to be said; I must go, that's certain; All my Concern will be how to part with you: And indeed, next to you; with every body; for all my Fellow-servants have lov'd me, and you and they will cost me a Sigh and a Tear too now-and-then, I am sure; and so I fell a-crying. I could not help it. For it is a pleasant Thing to one to be in a House among a great many Fellow-servants, and be belov'd by them all.
Nay, I should have told you before now, how kind and civil Mr. Longman our Steward is: Vastly courteous indeed on all Occasions, and he said, once to Mrs. Jervis, be wish'd he was a young Man for my sake, I should be his Wife, and he would settle all he had upon me on Marriage; and, you must know, he is reckon'd worth a Power of Money.
I take no Pride in this; but bless God, and your good Example, my dear Parents, that I have been enabled to have every body's good Word. Not but that our Cook one Day, who is a little snappish and cross sometimes, said once to me, Why this Pamela of ours goes as fine as a Lady. See what it is to have a fine Face! —I wonder what the Girl will come to at last!
She was hot with her Work; and I sneak'd away; for I seldom went down in the Kitchen; and I heard the Butler say, Why, Jane, nobody has your good Word! What has Mrs. Pamela done to you? I am sure she offends no body. And what, said the peevish Wench, have I said to her, Foolatum; but that she was pretty? They quarrel'd afterwards, I heard; but I was sorry for it, and troubled myself no more about it. Forgive this silly Prattle, from
Your dutiful Daughter.
My dear Father and Mother, I Did not send my last Letters so soon as I would, because John (whether my Master mistrusts or no, I can't say) had been sent to Lady Davers's, instead of Isaac, who used to go; and I could not be so free with, nor so well trust Isaac; tho' he is very civil to me too. So I was forced to stay till John return'd.
As I may not have Opportunity to send again soon; and yet as I know you keep my Letters, and read them over and over (so John told me) when you have done Work, so much does your Kindness make you love all that comes from your poor Daughter; and as it may be some little Pleasure to me, may-hap, to read them myself, when I am come to you, to remind me what I have gone thro', and how great God's Goodness has been to me (which, I hope, will rather strengthen my good Resolutions, that I may not hereafter, from my bad Conduct, have Reason to condemn myself from my own Hand, as it were): For all these Reasons, I say, I will write as I have Time, and as Matters happen, and send the Scribble to you as I have Opportunity; and if I don't every time, in Form, subscribe as I ought, I am sure you will always believe that it is not for want of Duty. So I will begin where I left off about the Talk between Mrs. Jervis and me, for me to ask to stay.
Unknown to Mrs. Jervis, I put a Project, as I may call it, in Practice. I thought with myself some Days ago, Here I shall go home to my poor Father and Mother, and have nothing on my Back, that will be fit for my Condition; for how should your poor Daughter look with a Silk Night-gown, Silken Petticoats, Cambrick Head-cloaths, fine Holland Linen, lac'd Shoes, that were my Lady's, and fine Stockens! And how in a little while must they have look'd, like old Cast-offs indeed, and I look'd so for wearing them! And People would have said, (for poor Folks are envious, as well as rich) See there Goody Andrews's Daughter, turn'd home from her fine Place! What a tawdry Figure she makes! And how well that Garb becomes her poor Parents Circumstances! —And how would they look upon me, thought I to myself, when they come to be in Tatters, and worn out? And how should I look, even if I could get homespun Cloths, to dwindle into them one by one, as I could get them? —May-be, an old Silk Gown, and a new Linsey-woolsey Petticoat, and so on. So, thinks I, I had better get myself at once 'quipt in the Dress that would become my Condition; and tho' it might look but poor to what I was us'd to wear of late Days, yet it would serve me, when I came to you, for a good Holiday and Sunday Suit, and what by God's Blessing on my Industry, I might, may-be, make shift to keep up to.
So, as I was saying, unknown to any body, I bought of Farmer Nichols's Wife and Daughters, a good sad-colour'd Stuff, of their own Spinning, enough to make me a Gown and two Petticoats; and I made Robings and Facings of a pretty Bit of printed Calicoe, I had by me.
I had a pretty good Camlet quilted Coat, that I thought might do tolerably well; and I bought two Flannel Under-coats, not so good as my Swan-skin and fine Linen ones; but what would keep me warm, if any Neighbour should get me to go out to help 'em to milk, now-and-then, as sometimes I us'd to do formerly; for I am resolv'd to do all your good Neighbours what Kindness I can; and hope to make myself as much belov'd about you, as I am here.
I got some pretty good Scots Cloth, and made me at Mornings and Nights, when nobody saw me, two Shifts, and I have enough left for two Shirts, and two Shifts, for you, my dear Father and Mother. When I come home, I'll make 'em for you, and desire your Acceptance as my first Present.
Then I bought of a Pedlar, two pretty enough round-ear'd Caps, a little Straw Hat, and a Pair of knit Mittens, turn'd up with white Calicoe; and two Pair of ordinary blue Worsted Hose, that make a smartish Appearance, with white Clocks, I'll assure you; and two Yards of black Ribbon for my Shift Sleeves, and to serve as a Necklace; and when I had 'em all come home, I went and look'd upon them once in two Hours, for two Days together: For, you must know, tho' I lay with Mrs. Jervis, I kept my own little Apartment still for my Cloaths; and nobody went thither but myself. You'll say, I was no bad Housewife to have say'd so much Money; but my dear good Lady was always giving me something.
I believ'd myself the more oblig'd to do this, because as I was turn'd away for what my good Master thought Want of Duty; and, as he expected other Returns for his Presents, than I intended, I bless God, to make him; so I thought it was but just to leave his Presents behind me when I went away: for, you know, if I would not earn his Wages, why should I have them?
Don't trouble yourself, now I think of it, about the Four Guineas, nor borrow to make them up; for they were given me, with some Silver, as I told you, as a Perquisite, being what my Lady had about her when she dy'd; and, as I hope for no other Wages, I am so vain as to think I have deserv'd them in the fourteen Months, since my Lady's Death: For she, good Soul! overpaid me before in Learning and other Kindnesses. —O had she liv'd, none of these Things might have happen'd! —But God be prais'd, 'tis no worse. Every thing turns about for the best, that's my Confidence.
So, as I was saying, I have provided a new and more suitable Dress, and I long to appear in my new Cloaths, more than ever I did in any new Cloaths in my Life; for then I shall be soon after with you, and at Ease in my Mind. —But mum—I am, &c.
My dear Father and Mother, I Was forc'd to break off; for I fear'd my Master was coming; but it prov'd to be only Mrs. Jervis. She came to me, and said, I can't endure you should be so much by yourself, Pamela. And I, said I, dread nothing so much as Company; for my Heart was up at my Mouth now, for fear my Master was coming. But I always rejoice to see my dear Mrs. Jervis.
Said she, I have had a world of Talk with my Master about you. I am sorry for it, said I; that I am made of so much Consequence as to be talk'd of by him. O, said she, I must not tell you all; but you are of more Consequence to him, than you think for—
Or wish for, said I; for the Fruits of being of Consequence to him, would make me of none to myself, or any body else.
Said she, thou art as witty as any Lady in the Land. I wonder where thou gottest it. But they must be poor Ladies, with such great Opportunities, I am sure, if they have no more than I. —But let that pass.
I suppose, said I, that I am of so much Consequence, however, as to vex him, if it be but to think, he can't make a Fool of such a one as I; and that is nothing at all, but a Rebuke to the Pride of his high Condition, which he did not expect, and knows not how to put up with.
There is something in that, may-be, says she; but indeed, Pamela, he is very angry at you too; and calls you twenty perverse Things; wonders at his own Folly, to have shewn you so much Favour, as he calls it; which he was first inclin'd to, he says, for his Mother's sake, and would have persisted to shew you for your own, if you was not your own Enemy.
Nay, now, I shan't love you, Mrs. Jervis, said I; you are going to persuade me to ask to stay, tho' you know the Hazards I run. —No, said she, he says you shall go; for he thinks it won't be for his Reputation to keep you: But he wish'd (don't speak of it for the World, Pamela) that he knew a Lady of Birth, just such another as yourself, in Person and Mind, and he would marry her Tomorrow.
I colour'd up to the Ears at this Word; but said, Yet if I was the Lady of Birth, and he would offer to be rude first, as he has twice done to poor me, I don't know whether I would have him: For she that can bear an Insult of that kind, I should think not worthy to be any Gentleman's Wife; any more than he would be a Gentleman that would offer it.
Nay, now, Pamela, said she, thou carriest thy Notions a great way. Well, dear Mrs. Jervis, said I, very seriously, for I could not help it, I am more full of Fears than ever. I have only to beg of you as one of the best Friends I have in the World, to say nothing of my asking to stay. To say my Master likes me, when I know what End he aims at, is Abomination to my Ears; and I shan't think myself safe till I am at my poor Father's and Mother's.
She was a little angry at me, 'till I assur'd her, that I had not the least Uneasiness on her Account, but thought myself safe under her Protection and Friendship. And so we dropt the Discourse for that Time.
I hope to have finish'd this ugly Waistcoat in two Days; after which, I have only some Linen to get up, and do something to, and shall then let you know how I shall contrive as to my Passage; for the heavy Rains will make it sad travelling on Foot: But maybe I may get a Place to ——, which is ten Miles of the Way, in Farmer Nichols's close Cart; for I can't sit a Horse well at all. And may-be nobody will be suffer'd to see me on upon the Way. But I hope to let you know more,
From, &c.
My dear Father and Mother, All my Fellow-servants have now some Notion, that I am to go away; but can't imagine for what. Mrs. Jervis tells them, that my Father and Mother growing in Years, cannot live without me; and so I go to them to help to comfort their old Age; but they seem not to believe it.
What they found it out by, was, the Butler heard him say to me, as I pass'd by him, in the Entry leading to the Hall, Who's that? Pamela, Sir, said I. Pamela! said he, How long are you to stay here! —Only, please your Honour, said I, till I have done the Waistcoat; and it is almost done. —You might, says he, (very roughly indeed) have finish'd that long enough ago, I should have thought! Indeed, and please your Honour said I, I have work'd early and late upon it; there is a great deal of Work in it! Work in it! said he; yes, you mind your Pen more than your Needle; I don't want such idle Sluts to stay in my House.
He seem'd startled, when he saw the Butler. As he enter'd the Hall, where Mr. Jonathan stood, What do you here, said he? —The Butler was as much confounded as I; for I never having been tax'd so roughly, could not help crying sadly; and got out of both their ways to Mrs. Jervis, and told my Complaint. This Love, said she, is the D—l! in how many strange Shapes does it make People shew themselves! And in some the farthest from their Hearts.
So one, and then another, has been since whispering, Pray, Mrs. Jervis, are we to lose Mrs. Pamela? as they always call me—What has she done? And then she tells them as above, about going home to you.
She said afterwards to me, Well, Pamela, you have made our Master from the sweetest-temper'd Gentleman in the World, one of the most peevish. But you have it in your Power to make him as sweet-temper'd as ever; tho' I hope in God you'll never do it on his Terms!
This was very good in Mrs. Jervis; but it intimated, that she thought as ill of his Designs as I; and as she knew his Mind more than I, it convinc'd me, that I ought to get away as fast as I could.
My Master came in, just now, to speak to Mrs. Jervis about Houshold Matters, having some Company to dine with him To-morrow; and I stood up, and having been crying, at his Roughness in the Entry, I turn'd away my Face.
You may well, said he, turn away your cursed Face; I wish I had never seen it! —Mrs. Jervis, how long is she to be about this Waistcoat?
Sir, said I, if your Honour had pleased, I would have taken it with me; and tho' it will be now finish'd in a few Hours, I will do so still; and remove this hateful poor Pamela out of your House and Sight for ever.
Mrs. Jervis, said he, not speaking to me, I believe this little Slut has the Power of Witchcraft, if ever there was a Witch; for she inchants all that come near her. She makes even you, who should know better what the World is, think her an Angel of Light.
I offer'd to go away; for I believ'd he wanted me to ask to stay in my Place, for all this his great Wrath; and he said, Stay here, stay here, when I bid you; and snatch'd my Hand. I trembled, and said, I will! I will! for he hurt my Fingers, he grasp'd me so hard.
He seem'd to have a mind to say something to me; but broke off abruptly; and said, Begone! And away I tripp'd, as fast as I could; and he and Mrs. Jervis had a deal of Talk, as she told me; and among the rest, he express'd himself vex'd to have spoke in Mr. Jonathan's Hearing.
Now you must know, that Mr. Jonathan our Butler, is a very grave good sort of old Man, with his Hair as white as Silver! and an honest worthy Man he is. I was hurrying out, with a Flea in my Ear, as the Saying is, and going down Stairs into the Parlour, met him. He took hold of my Hand, in a gentler manner tho', than my Master, with both his; and he said, Ah! sweet, sweet Mrs. Pamela! what is it I heard just now! —I am sorry at my Heart; but I am sure I will sooner believe any body in Fault than you. Thank you, Mr. Jonathan, said I; but as you value your Place, don't be seen speaking to such a one as me. I cry'd too; and slipt away as fast as I could from him, for his own sake, lest he should be seen to pity me.
And now I will give you an Instance how much I am in Mr. Longman's Esteem also.
I had lost my Pen some how; and my Paper being wrote out, I stepp'd to Mr. Longman's our Steward's Office, to beg him to give me a Pen or two, and a Sheet or two of Paper. He said, Aye, that I will, my sweet Maiden! And gave me three Pens, some Wafers, a Stick of Wax, and twelve Sheets of Paper; and coming from his Desk, where he was writing, he said, Let me have a Word or two with you, my sweet little Mistress (for so these two good old Gentlemen often call me; for I believe they love me dearly): I hear bad News; that we are going to lose you: I hope it is not . Yes, it is, Sir, said I; but I was in Hopes it would not be known till I went away.
What a D—l, said he, ails our Master of late! I never saw such an Alteration in any Man in my Life! He is pleas'd with nobody, as I fee; and by what Mr. Jonathan tells me just now, he was quite out of the way with you. What could you have done to him, tro'? Only Mrs. Jervis is a very good Woman, or I should have fear'd she had been your Enemy.
No, said I, nothing like it. Mrs. Jervis is a just good Woman, and next to my Father and Mother, the best Friend I have in the World. —Well then, says he, it must be worse. Shall I guess? You are too pretty, my sweet Mistress, and, may-be, too virtuous. Ah! have I not hit it? No, good Mr. Longman, said I, don't think any thing amiss of my Master; he is cross and angry with me indeed, that's ; but I may have given Occasion for it, may-be; and because I am oblig'd to go to my Father and Mother, rather than stay here, may-hap, he may think me ungrateful. But you know, Sir, said I, that a Father and Mother's Comfort is the dearest thing to a good Child that can be. Sweet Excellence! said he, this becomes you; but I know the World and Mankind too well; tho' I must hear, and see, and say nothing! But God bless my little Sweeting, said he, where-ever you go! And away went I, with a Curchee and Thanks.
Now this pleases one, my dear Father and Mother, to be so beloved. —