Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

‘For God’s sake, sir, give me reason, and speedy reason, by setting at liberty a poor creature, who has done nothing to deserve confinement, to join with all the rest of your servants to bless that goodness which you have been accustomed to extend to every one, and till of late used to shew to the now deeply afflicted

  PAMELA,’

  I thought, when I had written this letter, and that which he had prescribed, it would look like placing a confidence in Mrs Jewkes, to shew them to her; and I shewed her, at the same time, my master’s letter to me; for, I believed, the value he expressed for me, would give me credit with one who professed in every thing to serve him, right or wrong; though I have so little reason, I fear, to pride myself in that credit: and I was not mistaken; for she is at present mighty obliging, and runs over in my praises.

  I am now come to MONDAY, the 5th day of my bondage

  I was in hope to have an opportunity to have a little private talk with John, before he went away; but it could not be. The poor man’s excessive sorrow made Mrs Jewkes take it into her head, that he loves me; and so when he was to set out on his return this morning, and I desired to see him, she would needs accompany him to my closet, as I call it. The poor wretch (you shall by-and-by know why I call John a poor wretch) was as full of concern at taking leave, as he was at his first seeing me. I gave him the two letters in one cover: but Mrs Jewkes, as I should have told you, would make me shew them to her before I sealed them up, (and put a private mark on the cover) lest I should inclose any thing else, as indeed I had intended to do.

  At the man’s going away, he dropt a bit of paper, close rolled up, in my sight, just as she turned her back to go down stairs. I took it up unobserved; and was excessively surprized, when, on returning to my closet, I opened it, and read as follows.

  ‘Good Mrs PAMELA,

  ‘I am grieved to tell you how much you have been deceived, and betrayed, and that by such a vile dog as I. Little did I think it would come to this. But I must say, if ever there was a rogue in the world, it is me. I have all along shewed your letters to my master: he employed me for that purpose; and he saw every one before I carried them to your father and mother; and then sealed them up, and sent me with them. I had some business that carried me that way, but not half so often as I pretended: and as soon as I heard how it was, I was ready to hang myself. You may well think I could not stand in your presence. O vile, vile wretch, to bring you to this! If you are ruined, I am the rogue that caused it. All the justice I can do you, is to tell you, you are in vile hands; and I am afraid will be undone, in spite of all your sweet innocence; and I believe I shall never live, after I know it. If you can forgive me, you are exceeding good; but I shall never forgive myself, that’s certain. Howsomever, it will do you no good to make this known; and mayhap I may live to do you service. If I can, I will. I am sure I ought. Master kept your last two or three letters, and did not send them at all. I am the most abandoned wretch of wretches.

  J. ARNOLD.

  ‘You see your undoing has been long hatching. Pray take care of your sweet self. Mrs Jewkes is a devil: but in my master’s other house you have not one false heart, but myself. Out upon me for a villain!’

  My dear father and mother, when you come to this place, I make no doubt your hair will stand an end, as mine does! O the deceitfulness of the heart of man! This John, whom I took to be the honestest of men; whom you also took to be so; who was always praising you to me, and me to you, and for nothing so much as for our honest hearts; this very fellow was all the while a vile hypocrite, and a perfidious wretch, and helping to carry on my ruin.

  But he says so much of himself, that I will only sit down with this sad reflection – That power and riches never want tools to promote their vilest ends, and that there is nothing so hard to be known as the heart of man. I can but pity the poor wretch, since he seems to have great remorse, and I believe it best to keep his wickedness secret.

  One thing I should mention in this place: John brought down, in a portmanteau, all the clothes and things which my lady and my master had given me, and moreover, two velvet hoods, and a velvet scarf,110 that used to be worn by my lady; but I have no pleasure in them, nor in any thing else.

  Mrs Jewkes had the portmanteau brought into my closet, and she shewed me what was in it; but then locked it up, and said, she would let me have what I would out of it, when I asked; but if I had the key, it might make me want to go abroad: and so the confident woman put it in her pocket.

  I gave myself over to sad reflections upon this strange and surprising discovery of John’s deceitfulness, and wept much for him, and for myself too; for now I see, as he says, that my ruin has been long contriving, and that I can make no doubt what my master’s honourable professions will end in. What a heap of hard names does the poor fellow call himself! But if John deserves those names, what must that wicked master deserve, who set him to work? And who, not content to be corrupt himself, endeavours to corrupt others, who would have been innocent if left to themselves! and all to carry on a base plot against a poor creature, who never did him harm, nor withheld him any; and who can still pray for his happiness, and his repentance.

  I cannot but wonder what these gentlemen, as they are called, can think of themselves for these vile doings? John had some inducement; for he hoped to please his master, who rewarded him, and was bountiful to him; and the same may be said, bad as she is, for this same odious Mrs Jewkes. But what inducement has my master for taking so much pains to do the devil’s work for him? If he loves me, as ’tis falsely called, must he therefore lay traps for me, to ruin me, and to make me as bad as himself? I cannot imagine what good the undoing of such a poor creature as I can procure him! To be sure, I am a very worthless body. People indeed say I am handsome; but if I am, should not a gentleman prefer an honest servant to a guilty harlot? And must he be more earnest to seduce me, because I dread of all things to be seduced, and would rather lose my life than my honesty?

  These are strange things to me; I cannot account for them; but surely nobody will say, that these fine gentlemen have any tempter but their own base wills! This wicked master could run away, when he apprehended his servants might discover his vile attempts upon me in that sad closet affair; but is it not strange, that he should not be afraid of the All-seeing Eye, from which even that base, plotting heart of his, in its most secret motions, cannot be hidden?

  TUESDAY and WEDNESDAY

  Mrs Jewkes took me with her a little turn for an airing in the chariot, and I have walked several times in the garden; but she was always with me. And having no opportunity to write yesterday, I will now put both days together.

  Mr Williams came to see us, and took a walk with us one of the times; and while her back was turned (encouraged by the hint he had before given me) I said, ‘Sir, I see two tiles upon that parsley-bed: might not one cover them with mould, with a note between them, on occasion?’ ‘A good hint!’ said he: ‘let that sun-flower by the back-door of the garden be the place; I have a key to that door; for it is my nearest way to the village.’

  What inventions will necessity push one upon! I hugged myself at the thought; and she coming to us, he said, as if he was continuing a discourse we were in, ‘No, not very pleasant.’ ‘What’s that? what’s that?’ said Mrs Jewkes. ‘Only,’ said he, ‘the village, I am saying, is not very pleasant.’ ‘Indeed,’ said she, ‘’tis not.’ ‘Are there any gentry near it?’ said I. And so we chatted on about the town, to deceive her. But I intended no hurt to anybody by my deceit.

  We then talked of the garden, how large and pleasant, and the like; and sat down on the turfted111 slope of the fish-pond, to see the fishes play upon the surface of the water; and she said, I should angle, if I would.

  ‘I wish,’ said I, ‘you’d be so kind to fetch me a rod and baits.’ ‘Pretty mistress!’ said she, ‘I know better than that, I assure you, at this time.’ ‘Indeed, I mean no harm,’ said I. ‘Perhaps not,’ replied she; ‘but we will angle a little to-morrow.’ Mr Williams, who is m
uch afraid of her, changed the discourse. I sauntered in, and left them to talk by themselves; but he went away to the village; and she was soon after me.

  I had got to my pen and ink; but, on her coming, I put what I was writing in my bosom, and asked her for more paper. She questioned me as to that she had given me before, ‘You know,’ said I, ‘that I have written two letters, and sent them by John.’ (O how the very mentioning of his name, poor guilty fellow, grieves me!) ‘Well,’ said she, ‘you have some left: one sheet did for those two letters.’ ‘Yes,’ said I, ‘but I used half another for a cover, you know; and see how I have scribbled the other half,’ and so I shewed her a parcel of broken scraps of verses, which I had tried to recollect, and had written purposely that she might think me usually employed in such an idle way. ‘Ay,’ said she, ‘so you have; well, I’ll give you two sheets more; but I must see how you dispose of them.’ Well, thought I, I hope still, Argus,112 to be too hard for thee. Now Argus, the poets say, had an hundred eyes, and was set to watch with them all, as she does, with her goggling ones.

  She brought me the paper, and said, ‘Now, Mrs Pamela, let me see you write something.’ ‘I will,’ said I; and took the pen and wrote, ‘I wish Mrs Jewkes would be so good to me, as I would be to her, if I had it in my power.’ ‘That’s pretty, now,’ said she: ‘well, I hope I am; but what then?’ ‘Why then’ (wrote I) ‘she would do me the favour to let me know, what I have done to be made her prisoner; and what she thinks is to become of me.’ ‘Well, and what then?’ said she. ‘Why then, of consequence’ (scribbled I)’she would let me see her instructions, that I may know how far to blame, how far to acquit her; and what to hope from her.’

  Thus I fooled on, to shew her my fondness for scribbling (for I had no expectation of any good from her) that so she might suppose I employed myself, as I said, to no better purpose at other times: for she will have it that I am upon some plot, I am so silent, and love so much to be by myself.

  She would have me write on a little further. ‘No,’ said I, ‘you have not answered me.’ ‘Why,’ said she, ‘what can you doubt, when my master himself assures you of his honour?’ ‘Ay,’ said I; ‘but lay your hand to your heart, Mrs Jewkes, and tell me, if you yourself believe him.’ ‘Yes,’ said she, ‘to be sure I do.’ ‘But,’ said I, ‘what do you call honour?’ ‘Why,’ said she, ‘what does he call honour, think you?’ ‘Ruin! shame! disgrace!’ said I, ‘I fear.’ ‘Pho, pho!’ said she; ‘if you have any doubt about it, he can best explain his own meaning: I’ll send him word to come and satisfy you, if you will.’ ‘Horrid creature!’ said I, in a fright. ‘Can you not stab me to the heart! I’d rather you would, than say such another word! But I hope there is no thought of his coming.’

  She had the wickedness to say, ‘No, no; he don’t intend to come, as I know of: but, if I was he, I would not be long away.’ ‘What means the woman?’ said I. ‘Mean!’ said she (turning it off); ‘why, I mean, I would come, if I was he, and put an end to all your fears-by making you as happy as you wish.’ ‘’Tis out of his power,’ said I, ‘to make me happy, great and rich as he is! but by leaving me innocent, and giving me liberty to go to my father and mother.’

  She went away soon after, and I ended my letter, in hopes to have an opportunity to lay it in the appointed place. I then went to her, and said, ‘I suppose, as it is not dark, I may take another turn in the garden.’ ‘’Tis too late,’ said she; ‘but if you will go, don’t stay; and, Nan, see and attend madam,’ as she called me.

  I went towards the pond, the maid following me, and dropped purposely my hussey:113 and when I came near the tiles, I said, ‘Mrs Ann, I have dropped my hussey, be so kind as to look for it: I had it by the pond-side.’ She went back to look, and I flipped the note between the tiles, and covered them as quick as I could with the light mould, quite unperceived; and the maid finding the hussey, I took it, and sauntered in again, and met Mrs Jewkes coming to seek after me. What I wrote was this:

  ‘Reverend Sir,

  ‘The want of opportunity to speak my mind to you, I am sure, will excuse this boldness in a poor creature that is betrayed hither, I have reason to think, for the worst of purposes. You know something, to be sure, of my story, my native poverty, which I am not ashamed of, my late lady’s goodness, and my master’s designs upon me. ’Tis true, he promises honour; but the honour of the wicked is disgrace and shame to the virtuous. And he may think he keeps his promises, according to the notions he may allow himself to hold; and yet, according to mine, and every good person’s, basely ruin me.

  ‘I am so ill treated by this Mrs Jewkes, and she is so ill-principled a woman, that as I may soon want the opportunity which the happy hint of this day affords to my hopes, I throw myself at once upon your goodness without the least reserve: for goodness I see, sir, in your looks, I hope it from your cloth, and I doubt it not from your inclination, in a case circumstanced as my unhappy one is. For, sir, in helping me out of my present distress, you perform all the acts of religion in one; and the highest mercy and charity, both to body and soul, of a poor wretch, that, believe me, sir, has at present, not so much as in thought, swerved from innocence.

  ‘Is there not some way to be found out for my escape, without danger to yourself? Is there no gentleman or lady of virtue in this neighbourhood, to whom I may fly, only till I can find a way to get to my father and mother? Cannot Lady Davers be made acquainted with my sad story, by your conveying a letter to her? My parents are low in the world: they can do nothing, but break their hearts for me; and that, I fear, will be the deplorable case.

  ‘My master promises, if I will be easy, as he calls it, in my present lot, that he will not come down without my consent. Alas! sir, this is nothing: for what is the promise of a person, who thinks himself intitled to act as he has done by me? If he comes, it must be for no good; and come, to be sure, he will, when he thinks he has silenced the clamours of my friends, and lulled me, as no doubt he hopes, into a fatal security.

  ‘Now, therefore, sir, is all the time I have to work and struggle for the preservation of my honesty. If I stay till he comes, I am undone. You have a key to the garden back-door; I have great hopes from that. Study, good sir, and contrive for me. I will faithfully keep your secret.

  ‘I say no more, but commit this to the happy tiles, in the bosom of that earth, where I hope my deliverance will take root, and bring forth such fruit as may turn to my inexpressible joy, and your reward, both here and hereafter: as shall ever pray

  Your oppressed humble Servant.’

  THURSDAY

  This completes a terrible week since my setting out, in hopes to see you, my dear father and mother. O how different were my hopes then, from what they are now! Yet who knows what these happy tiles may produce!

  But I must now tell you, how I have been beaten by Mrs Jewkes! It is very true! And thus it came about.

  I was very impatient to walk in the garden, to see if any thing had offered answerable to my hopes. But this wicked Mrs Jewkes said I should not go without her; and she was not at leisure to go with me. We had a great many words about it; for I told her, It was very hard to be denied to walk by myself in the garden for a little air; but must be dogged and watched, as if I were a thief.

  She pleaded her instructions, and said, she was not to trust me out of her sight. ‘You had better,’ said she, ‘be easy and contented, I assure you; for I have stricter orders than you have yet found put in force. Don’t I remember,’ added she, ‘your asking Mr Williams if there were any gentry in the neighbourhood? This makes me suspect, that you want to get away to some of them, and din their ears114 with your dismal story, as you call it.’

  My heart aked at this hint; for I was afraid by it, that she had found my letter under the tiles. But at last, seeing me vexed and surprized, she said, ‘Well, since you are set upon it, you may take a turn, and I will be with you in a minute.’

  When I was out of sight of her window, I speeded towards the hopeful place; but was soon forced to
slacken my pace, by her odious voice. ‘Hey-day! why so nimble, and whither so fast?’ said she. ‘What! are you upon a wager?’ I stopped for her till she had waddled up to me; and she held by my arm, half out of breath: so I was forced to pass by the hopeful spot, without daring to cast an eye towards it.

  The gardener was at work a little further, and I stopt to look upon what he was about, and began to talk to him in the way of his art; but she said softly, ‘My instructions are, not to let you be familiar with the servants.’ ‘Are you afraid,’ said I, ‘that I should confederate with them to commit a robbery on my master?’ ‘Perhaps I am,’ said the odious wretch; ‘for to rob him of yourself, would be the worst robbery, in his opinion, that you could commit.’

  ‘And pray,’ said I, (as we walked on) ‘how came I to be his property? What right has he in me, but such as a thief may plead to stolen goods?’ ‘Was ever the like heard!’ says she. ‘This is downright rebellion, I protest! Well, well, lambkin,’ (which the foolish creature often calls me) ‘if I was in his place, he should not have his property in you long questionable. I would not stand shill-I, shall-I,115 as he does; but put you and himself both out of your pain.’ ‘Jezebel,’116 said I, (I could not help it) and was about to say more; but she gave me a severe blow upon my shoulder. ‘Take that,’ said she; ‘who is it you call Jezebel?’

  I was excessively surprised; for you, my dear father and mother, never beat me in your lives; and looked round, as if I wanted somebody to help me; but saw nobody; and said, at last, putting my hand to my shoulder, ‘Is this also in your instructions? Am I to be beaten too?’ And fell a crying, and threw myself on the grass-walk we were upon. ‘Jezebel!’ repeated she, in a great pet, ‘Jezebel! Marry come up!117 I see you have a spirit; you must and shall be kept under. I’ll manage such .a little provoking thing as you, I warrant ye! Come, rise; we’ll go in a-doors, and I’ll lock you up, and you shall have no shoes, nor any kindness from me, I assure you.’