Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  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 were 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 such good rule and order, as makes her 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 very often when we are alone; so that I am ready, with such good employment, to think that 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 called me his pretty Pamela; and took hold of me, as if he would have kissed me (for which, you may be sure, I was very angry) and she took him to task, and was as angry at him as I could be; and told me she was very well pleased to see my prudence and modesty, and that I kept all the fellows at a distance. And, indeed, though I am sure I am not proud, but carry it civilly to every body, I cannot bear to be looked upon by these men-servants as they are apt to look upon me; and as I generally breakfast, dine, and sup, with Mrs Jervis, (so good is she to me) 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, though 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 cannot but wonder at myself, (though your caution to me was owing to 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: who, to be sure, may expect one of the best ladies in the land. So no more at present; but that I am

  Your ever dutiful Daughter.

  LETTER VI

  My master has been very kind since my last; for he has given me a suit of my late lady’s clothes, and half a dozen of her shifts, and six fine handkerchiefs,8 and three of her cambric aprons, and four Holland ones.9 The clothes are fine silk, 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: that 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 great many good things at the same time, and bid her wear them in remembrance of her good friend, 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 them for your good mistress’s sake. Mrs Jervis commends your conduct; 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 affected with his goodness, that I could not tell what to say. I curt’sied to him, and to Mrs Jervis for her good word; and said, I wished I might be deserving of his favour, and her 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, indeed, says he is: but he gave these good things to us both with such a graciousness, that I thought he looked like an angel.

  Mrs Jervis says, he asked 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, though I may not deserve it at present. I am sure I will always love her next to you and my dear mother. So I rest

  Your ever-dutiful Daughter.

  LETTER VII

  My dear Father,

  Since my last, my master gave me more fine things. He called me up to my late lady’s closet,10 and pulling out her drawers, he gave me two suits of fine Flanders laced head-clothes,11 three pair of fine silk shoes,12 two hardly the worse, and just fit for me (for my lady had a very little foot), and the other with wrought silver buckles in them; and several ribands and top-knots13 of all colours; four pair of fine white cotton stockings, and three pair of fine silk ones; and two pair of rich stays.14 ‘Your poor lady, Pamela,’ said he, ‘was finely shaped, though in years, and very slender.’ I was quite astonished, and unable to speak for a while; but yet I was inwardly ashamed to take the stockings; for Mrs Jervis was not there: if she had, it would have been nothing. I believe I received them very aukwardly; for he smiled at my aukwardness, and said, ‘Don’t blush, Pamela: dost think I don’t know pretty maids wear shoes and stockings?’

  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. And besides, it was a little odd, I thought, and so I thought before, that he himself should turn over my lady’s apparel, and give me these things with his own hands, rather than to let Mrs Jervis give them to me. So, like a fool, I was ready to cry; and went away curt’sying and blushing, I am sure, up to the ears; for, though 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 looked to her, she said, as if he would fit me in dress for a waiting-maid’s place on Lady Davers’s own person.

  But still your 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. 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 puffed up: so I will conclude, all that happens is for our good; and God bless you, my dear father and mother; and I know you constantly pray for a blessing upon me. Who am, and shall always be,

  Your dutiful Daughter.

  LETTER VIII

  Dear Pamela,

  I cannot but renew my cautions on your master’s kindness, and his free expression to you about the stockings: 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 happiness in this world and the next; it is enough to make one fearful for you. Arm yourself, my dear child, for the worst; and resolve to lose your life rather than your virtue. What though the doubts I filled you with lessen the pleasure you would have had in your master’s kindness; yet what signify the delights that arise from a few fine clothes, 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. As you say, it would have been more proper for Mrs Jervis to have been the dispenser of them to you, if he had so thought fit. I can’t say I much like of it, that it was not so.15 I trust that you will be always on your guard: yet, when you say, he looked so amiably, and like an angel, how afraid I am, that they should make too great an impression upon you! For, though you are blessed with sense and prudence above your years, yet I tremble to think, what a sad hazard a poor maiden, of little 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. Methinks I could wish, so could your mother, that you might be taken by good Lady Davers. That would be an high honour; and what is of more account, a great ease to our hearts concerning your virtue.

  But if this be, or be not to be, I repeat my charge to you, my dear child, on both our blessings, 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 hi
de 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.

  Besure don’t let people’s telling you, you are pretty, puff you up: for you did not make yourself, and so no praise can be due to you for it

  It is virtue and goodness only, that make the true beauty. Remember that, Pamela.

  LETTER IX

  I am sorry, my dear father and mother, 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 heard 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 loved me, and committed me to his care, he ought to continue me with him; and Mrs Jervis would be a mother tome.

  Mrs Jervis tells me, my 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 cautions, or of 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 such a gentleman, and so poor a girl. But yet Mrs Jervis seemed 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 may continue to me your good advice, and pray for

  Your thoughtful PAMELA.

  LETTER X

  My dear Mother,

  You and my good father may wonder you have not had a letter from me in so many weeks: but a sad, sad scene has been the occasion of it. For, to be sure, now it is too plain, that all your cautions were well-grounded. O my dear mother, I am miserable I truly miserable! But yet, don’t be frighted, I am honest! And I hope God, of his goodness, will keep me so!

  O this angel of a master! this fine gentleman! this gracious benefactor to your poor Pamela! who was to take care of me at the prayer of his good dying mother! who was so apprehensive for 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, though he has fallen from the merit of that title) has degraded himself to offer freedoms to his poor servant: he has now shewed himself in his true colours, and, to me, nothing appears so black and so frightful.

  I have not been idle; but had writ from time to time, how he, by sly mean degrees, exposed his wicked views: but somebody stole my letter, and I know not what is become of it. It was a very long one. I fear, he that was mean enough to attempt 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 ashamed of his part; I not of mine: for he will see I was resolved to be virtuous, and gloried in the honesty of my poor parents.

  I will tell you all, the next opportunity; for I am watched very narrowly; and he says to Mrs Jervis, ‘This girl is always scribbling; I think she may be better employed.’ And yet I work very hard with my needle, upon his linen, and the fine linen of the family; and am, besides, about flowering him a waistcoat.16 But, Oh! my heart’s almost broken; 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.

  Perhaps I he and him him too much: but it is his own fault if I do. For why did he lose all his dignity with me?

  LETTER XI

  Well, my dear mother, I can’t find my letter, and so I’ll try to recollect it all.

  All went well enough, in the main, for some time after my last letter but one. At last, I saw some reason to be suspicious; for he would look upon me, whenever he saw me, in such a manner, as shewed not well: And one day he came to me, as I was in the summer-house in the little garden, at work with my needle, and Mrs Jervis was just gone from me; and I would have gone out; but he said, ‘Don’t go, Pamela; I have something to say to you; and you always fly me, when I come near you, as if you were afraid of me.’

  I was much out of countenance you may well think; and began to tremble, and the more when he took me by the hand; for no soul was near us.

  ‘Lady Davers,’ said he, (and seemed, 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 resolved to do, if you continue faithful and obliging. What say you, my girl?’ said he, with some eagerness; ‘had you not rather stay with me than go to Lady Davers?’ He looked so, as filled me with fear; I don’t know how; wildly, I thought.

  I said, when I could speak, ‘Your Honour will forgive me; but as you have no lady for me to wait upon, and my good lady has been now dead this twelvemonth, 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 are a little fool, and know not what’s good for yourself. I tell you, I will make a gentlewoman of you, if you are obliging, and don’t stand in your own light.’ And so saying, he put his arm about me, and kissed me.

  Now, you will say, all his wickedness appeared plainly. I struggled, and trembled, and was so benumbed 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, with frightful eagerness. 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! Do you know whom 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 sobbed and cried 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 lessened the distance that fortune has made between us, by demeaning yourself, to be so free to a poor servant. Yet, sir, I will be bold to say, I am honest, though poor: And if you were a prince, I would not be otherwise than honest.’

  He was angry, and said, ‘Who, little fool, would have you otherwise? Cease your blubbering. I own I have undervalued myself; but it was only to try you. If you can keep this matter secret, you’ll give me the better opinion of your prudence: And here’s something,’ added he, putting some gold in my hand, ‘to make you amends for the fright I put you in. Go, take a walk in the garden, and don’t go in till your blubbering is over: 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: ‘I won’t take it.’ And so I put it upon the bench. And as he seemed vexed and confounded at what he had done, I took the opportunity to open the door, and hurried out of the summer-house.

  He called to me, and said, ‘Be secret, I charge you, Pamela; and don’t go in yet.’

  O how poor and mean must those actions be, and how little 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, that I have not yet run away from this house, so late my comfort and delight, but now my terror and anguish.

  I am forced to break off hastily.

/>   Your dutiful and honest Daughter.

  LETTER XII

  Well, my dear mother, and now I will proceed with my sad story.

  After I had dried my eyes, I went in, and began 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 clothes I had on: But then I had two miles and a half, and a bye-way to the town; and being pretty well dressed, I might come to some harm, almost as bad as what I would run away from; and then, maybe, thought I, it will be reported, I have stolen something, and so was forced to run away: And to carry a bad name back with me to my dear parents, would be a sad thing indeed! O how I wished for my grey russet17 again, and my poor honest dress, with which you fitted me out for going to this place, when I was not twelve years old, in my good lady’s days! Sometimes I thought of telling Mrs Jervis, and taking her advice; but then I thought of his command to be secret; and who knows, thought I, but he may be ashamed of his actions, and never attempt the like again? And as poor Mrs Jervis depended upon him, through misfortunes that had attended her, I thought it would be a sad thing to bring his displeasure upon her for my sake.

  In this perplexity; now considering, now crying, and not knowing what to do, I passed 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?’