Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  Yesterday my master, after he came from hunting, sent for me. I went with great terror; for I expected he would be in a fine passion with me for my freedom of speech in the green-room: so I was resolved to begin first, with submission, to disarm his anger; and I fell upon my knees as soon as I saw him; and said, ‘Good sir, let me beseech you, as you hope to be forgiven yourself, and for the sake of my dear good lady your mother, who recommended me to you in her last words, to forgive me all my faults: and only grant me this favour, the last I shall ask you, that you will let me depart your house with peace and quietness of mind, that I may take such a leave of my fellow-servants as befits me; and that my heart be not quite broken.’

  He raised me up, with a kinder aspect than ever I had known; and said, ‘shut the door, Pamela, and come to me in my closet: I want to have a little serious talk with you.’

  ‘How can I, sir,’ said I, ‘how can I?’ and wrung my hands. ‘O, pray, sir, let me go out of your presence, I beseech you.’

  ‘By the G—d that made me,’ said he, ‘I’ll do you no harm. Shut the parlour-door, and come to me in my library.’

  He then went into his closet, which is his library, and full of rich pictures besides; a noble apartment, though called a closet, and next the private garden, into which it has a door that opens. I shut the parlour door as he bid me; but stood at it irresolute. ‘Place some confidence in me,’ said he: ‘surely you may, when I have spoken thus solemnly.’ So I crept towards him with trembling feet, and my heart throbbing through my handkerchief.

  ‘Come in,’ said he, ‘when I bid you.’ I did so. ‘Pray, sir,’ said I, ‘pity and spare me.’ ‘I will,’ said he, ‘as I hope to be saved.’ He sat down upon a rich settee, and took hold of my hand, and said, ‘Don’t doubt me, Pamela. From this moment I will no more consider you as my servant; and I desire you’ll not use me with ingratitude for the kindness I am going to express towards you.’

  This both alarmed and emboldened me; and he said, holding both my hands between his, ‘You have too much good sense not to discover, that I, in spite of my heart, and all the pride of it, cannot but love you. Yes, look up to me, my sweet-faced girl! I must say I love you; and have put on a behaviour to you, that was much against my heart, with intent to make you say or do something that should provoke me.’

  I was unable to speak; and he, seeing me too much confounded to go on in that strain, said, ‘Well, Pamela, let me know in what situation of life your father is: I know he is a poor man; but is he as low and as honest as he was when my mother took you?’

  Then I could speak a little; and with a down look, (and I felt my face glow like fire), I said, ‘Yes, sir, as poor and as honest too, and that is my pride.’ ‘I will do something for him,’ said he, ‘if it be not your fault, and make all your family happy.’ ‘Ah! sir,’ said I, ‘he is happier already than ever he can be, if his daughter’s virtue is to be the price of your favour. And I beg you will not speak to me on the only side that can wound me.’ ‘I have no design of that sort,’ said he. ‘O sir,’ said I, ‘tell me not so, tell me not so!’ ‘’Tis easy,’ said he, ‘to be the making of your father, without injuring you.’ ‘If this, sir, can be done, let me know how; and all I can do with innocence shall be the study of my life to do. But Oh! what can such a poor creature as I do, and do my duty?’ ‘I would have you,’ said he, ‘stay a week or a fortnight longer, and behave yourself obligingly to me; and all shall turn out beyond your expectation. I see,’ said he, ‘you are going to answer otherwise than I would have you; and I begin to be vexed that I should thus meanly ask you to stay: but yet I will tell you, that your behaviour before Longman, when I treated you a little harshly, and you could so well have vindicated yourself, has quite charmed me. And though I am not pleased with all you said yesterday while I was in the closet, yet you have moved me more to admire you than before; and I am awakened to see more worthiness in you, than ever I saw in any woman in the world. All the servants, from the highest to the lowest, doat upon you, instead of envying you; and look upon you in so superior a light, as speaks what you ought to be. I have seen more of your letters than you imagine,’ (this surprised me) ‘and am quite charmed with your manner of writing, and with many of your sentiments so much above your years; and for all these reasons I love you to extravagance. Now, Pamela, when I have stooped to acknowledge all this, you must oblige me by staying another week or fortnight, which will give me time to bring about some certain affairs; and you shall see how much you may find your account in your compliance.’

  I trembled to feel my poor heart giving way. ‘O good sir,’ said I, ‘spare a poor maiden, that cannot look up to you, and speak. My heart is full: and why should you wish to ruin me?’ ‘Only oblige me,’ said he, ‘in staying a fortnight longer, and John shall carry word to your father, that I will see him in the mean time, either here, or at the Swan in his village.’ ‘O sir,’ said I, ‘my heart will burst; but on my bended knees I beg you to let me go tomorrow, as I designed: and don’t offer to tempt a poor creature, whose whole will would be to do yours, if innocence would permit.’ ‘It shall permit,’ said he; ‘for I intend no injury to you, God is my witness!’ ‘Impossible!’ said I; ‘I cannot, sir, believe you, after what has passed: how many ways are there to ruin poor creatures! Good God, protect me this one time, and send me but to my dear father’s cot in safety!’ ‘strange, damned fate,’ says he, ‘that when I speak so solemnly, I can’t be believed!’ ‘What should I believe, sir?’ returned I; ‘what can I believe? What have you said, but that I am to stay a fortnight longer? and what then is to become of me?’ ‘My pride of birth and fortune (damn them both!’ said he, ‘since they cannot obtain credit with you, but must add to your suspicions) will not let me descend, all at once; and I ask you but a fortnight’s stay, that, after this declaration, I may pacify those proud demands upon me.’

  O how my heart throbbed! and I began (for I did not know what I did) to say the Lord’s prayer. ‘None of your beads to me, Pamela,’ said he; ‘thou art a perfect nun, I think.’

  But I said aloud, with my eyes lifted up to heaven, ‘Lead me not into temptation; but deliver me from evil, O my good God!’

  He pressed me in his arms, and said, ‘Well, my dear girl, then you stay this fortnight, and you shall see what I will do for you. I’ll leave you a moment, and walk into the next room, to give you time to think of it, and to shew you I have no design upon you.’

  This, I thought, did not look amiss.

  He went out, and I was tortured with twenty different doubts in a minute: sometimes I thought, that to stay a week or fortnight longer in this house to obey him, while Mrs Jervis was with me, could not be attended with bad consequences. But then, thought I, how do I know what I may be able to do? I have withstood his anger; but may I not relent at his kindness? How shall I stand than! Well, I hope, thought I, by the same protecting grace, in which I will always confide! But then what has he promised? Why he will make my poor father and mother’s life comfortable. O! said I to myself, that is a rich thought; but let me not dwell upon it, for fear I should indulge it to my ruin. What can he do for me, poor girl as I am! What can his greatness stoop to! He talks, thought I, of his pride of heart, and pride of condition! O these are in his head and in his heart too, or he would not confess them to me at such an instant. Well then, thought I, this can be only to seduce me! And when I reflected, that after this open declaration of what he called his love, he would probably talk with me on that subject more plainly than ever, and that I should be possibly less armed to withstand him; and further, that if he meant nothing but honour, he would have spoken before Mrs Jervis; and when the odious frightful first closet came again into my head, and my narrow escape upon it; and farther reflected, how easy it might be for him to send Mrs Jervis and the maids out of the way; and so that all the mischief he designed might be brought about in less than that time; when I reflected on all these things, I resolved to go away, and trust all to Providence, and nothing to myself. And
you shall hear how thankful I ought to be for being enabled to take this resolution.

  But just as I have written to this place, John sends me word that he is going this minute your way; and so I will send you thus far, and hope, by to-morrow night, to ask your blessings, at your own happy abode, and tell you the rest by word of mouth; and so I remain till then, and for ever,

  Your dutiful Daughter.

  LETTER XXXI

  I told you my resolution, my happy resolution, as I have reason to think it: and just as I had taken it he came in again, with great kindness in his looks; and said, ‘I make no doubt, Pamela, you will stay this fortnight to oblige me’ I knew not how to frame my words so as to deny, and yet not make him storm: but thus I answered, ‘Forgive, sir, your poor distressed maiden: I know I cannot possibly deserve any favour at your hands, that can conflict with innocence; and I beg you will let me go to my father.’ ‘Thou art the greatest fool,’ said he, ‘I ever knew. I tell you I will see your father; I’ll send for him hither to-morrow, in my travelling chariot, if you will; and I’ll let him know what I intend to do for him and for you.’

  ‘What, sir, may I ask you, can that be? Your honour’s noble estate will easily enable you to make him happy, and not unuseful perhaps to you in some respect or other. But what price am I to pay for all this?’ ‘You shall be happy as you can wish,’ said he, ‘I do assure you: and here I will now give you this purse, in which are fifty guineas, which I will allow your father yearly, and find an employment for him suitable to his liking, that shall make him deserve that and more. I would give you still more for him; but that perhaps you would suspect I have a design upon you.’

  ‘O sir, take back your guineas; I will not touch one, nor will my father, I am sure, till he knows what is to be done. for them; and particularly what is to become of me.’

  ‘Why then, Pamela,’ said he, ‘suppose I find a man of probity, and genteel calling, for a husband for you, that shall make you a gentlewoman as long as you live?’

  ‘I want no husband, sir,’ said I; for now I began to see him in all his black colours: yet being so much in his power, I thought I would a little dissemble.

  ’But,’ said he, ‘you are so pretty, that, go where you will, you can never be free from the designs of some or other of our sex; and I shall think I don’t answer the care of my dying mother for you, who committed you to me, if I don’t provide you a husband to protect your virtue and your innocence: and a worthy one I have thought of for you.’

  O black, perfidious creature! thought I, what an implement art thou in the hands of Lucifer, to ruin the innocent heart! Yet still I dissembled; for I feared much both him and the place I was in. ‘But whom, pray, sir, have you thought of?’ ‘Why,’ said he, ‘young Williams, my chaplain, in Lincolnshire, who will make you happy.’

  ‘Does he know, sir,’ said I, ‘anything of your honour’s intentions?’ ‘No, my girl,’ answered he, and kissed me (much against my will; for his very breath was now poison to me); ‘but his dependence upon my favour, and your beauty and merit, will make him rejoice at my kindness to him.’ ‘Well, sir,’ said I, ‘then it is time enough to consider of this matter; and it cannot hinder me from going to my father’s: for what will staying here a fortnight longer signify to this? Your honour’s care and goodness may extend to me there, as well as here; and Mr Williams, and all the world, shall know that I am not ashamed of my father’s poverty.’

  He would kiss me again; and I said, ‘If I am to think of Mr Williams, or of any body, I beg, sir, that you will not be so free with me.’ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘but you stay this next fortnight, and in that time I will have both Williams and your father here; and when they two have agreed upon the matter, you and Williams shall settle it as you will. Mean time, take and send only these fifty pieces to your father, as an earnest of my favour; and I’ll make you all happy.’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I beg at least two hours to consider of this.’ ‘I shall,’ said he, ‘be gone out in one hour; and I would have you write to your father what I propose, and John shall carry your letter, and take the purse with him for the good old man.’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘I will let you know, in one hour, my resolution.’ ‘Do so,’ replied he, and gave me another kiss, and let me go.

  How I rejoiced that I had got out of his clutches! So I write you this, that you may see how matters stand; for I am resolved to come away, if possible.

  So here was a trap laid for your poor Pamela. I tremble to think of it! What a scene of wickedness was here contrived for all my wretched life! Black-hearted wretch, how I hate him! For at first, as you will see by what I have written, he would have made me believe other things; and this of Mr Williams, I suppose, came into his head after he walked out from his closet, to give himself time to think how to delude me better: but the covering was now too thin, and easy to be seen through.

  I went to my chamber, and the first thing I did was to write to him; for I thought it was best not to see him again, if I could help it; and I put it under his parlour-door, after I had copied it, as follows:

  ‘Honoured Sir,

  ‘Your last proposal convinces me, that I ought to go to my father, if it were but to ask his advice about Mr Williams. I am so set upon it, that I am not to be persuaded. So, honoured sir, with a thousand thanks for all favours, I will set out to-morrow early; and the honour you designed me, as Mrs Jervis tells me, of your chariot, there will be no occasion for; because I can hire, I believe, Farmer Brady’s chaise. So, begging you will not take it amiss, I shall ever be

  Your dutiful Servant.

  As to the purse, sir, my poor father, to be sure, won’t forgive me, if I take it, till he can know how to deserve it: which is impossible.’

  So he has just now sent Mrs Jervis, to tell me, That since I am resolved to go, go I may, and that the travelling chariot shall be ready; but that he will never trouble himself about me as long as he lives. Well, so I get out of the house, I care not; only I should have been glad I could with innocence have made you, my dear parents, happy.

  I cannot imagine the reason of it, but John, who I thought, was gone with my last, is but now going; and he sends to know if I have anything else to carry. So I break off to send you this with the former.

  I am now preparing for my journey, and about taking leave of my fellow-servants. And if I have not time to write, I must tell you the rest, when I am so happy as to be with you.

  One word more: I slip in a paper of verses, on my going; sad poor stuff! but as they come from me, you’ll not dislike them, perhaps. I shewed them to Mrs Jervis, and she took a copy of them; and made me sing them to her; and in the green-room too; but I looked into the closet first. I will only add, That I am

  Your dutiful Daughter.

  Let me just say, That he has this moment sent me five guineas by Mrs Jervis, as a present for my pocket: so I shall be very rich; for as she brought them, I thought I might take them. He says he won’t see me; and I may go when I will in the morning; and Lincolnshire Robin shall drive me: but he is so angry, he orders that nobody shall go out at the door with me, not so much as into the court-yard. Well! I can’t help it! but does this not expose him more than me?

  But John waits, and I would have brought this and the other myself; but he says, he has put up the former among other things, and so can take both as well as one.

  John is very good, and very honest; I am under great obligations to him. I would give him a guinea, now I’m so rich, if I thought he’d take it. I hear nothing of the clothes my lady and my master gave me; for I told Mrs Jervis I would not take them; but I fancy, by a word or two that dropped, they will be sent after me. What a rich Pamela you’ll have, if they should! But as I can’t wear them, if they do, I don’t desire them; and, if I have them, will turn them into money, as I can have opportunity.

  Well, no more – I’m in a violent hurry!

  VERSES on my going away90

  I

  Attend, my fellow-servants dear,

  A grateful song demands you
r ear;

  The dictates of a heart sincere,

  Presented you by Pamela.

  II

  I long have had a blissful fate;

  Exalted by the good and great,

  Yet to her former humble state

  Content returns your Pamela.

  III

  Whate’er kind heav’n has designed,

  Still may I keep an equal mind,

  To the Eternal Will resigned,

  And happy must be Pamela.

  IV

  For what indeed is happiness

  But conscious innocence and peace?

  And that’s a treasure I possess;

  Thank heav’n, that gave it Pamela.

  V

  My future lot I cannot know:

  But this, I’m sure, where-e’er I go,

  Whate’er I am, whate’er I do,

  I’ll be the grateful Pamela.

  VI

  Yet something more remains to say:

  God’s holy will be sure obey;

  And for our bounteous master pray,

  As ever shall poor Pamela.

  VII

  For, O we pity should the great,

  Nor envy their superior state;

  Temptations always round them wait,

  Exempt from which are such as we.

  VIII

  Their riches, gay deceitful snares!

  Inlarge their fears, increase their cares;

  Their servants’ joy surpasses theirs;

  At least, so judges Pamela.

  IX

  Glad to my parents I return;

  Nor for their low condition mourn;

  Since grace and truth their souls adorn,

  They’re high and great to Pamela.

  X

  On GOD all future good depends: