Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  ‘Well, but then I was to have I know not how many pounds a year for my life; and my poor father (fine encouragement indeed!) was to be the manager for the abandoned prostitute, his daughter: and then (there was the jest of it!) my kind, forgiving, virtuous master would pardon me all my misdeeds.

  ‘And what, pray, are all these violent misdeeds? Why, they are, for daring to adhere to the good lessons that were taught me; for not being contented, when I was run away with, in order to be ruined; but contriving, if my poor wits had been able, to get out of danger, and preserve myself honest.

  ‘Then was he once jealous of poor John, though he knew John was his own creature, and helped to deceive me.

  ‘Then was he outrageous against poor Mr Williams; and him has this good, merciful master thrown into gaol! and for what? Why, truly, for that being a divine, and a good man, he was willing to forego all his expectations of interest, and assist a poor creature, whom he believed innocent!

  ‘But, to be sure, I must be forward, bold, saucy, and what not, to dare to attempt an escape from certain ruin, and an unjust confinement. Poor Mr Williams! how was he drawn in to make marriage proposals to me! O Mrs Jewkes! what a trick was that! The honest gentleman would have had but a poor catch of me, had I consented to be his wife; but he, and you too, know I did not want to marry any body. I only wanted to go to my poor parents, and not to be laid under an unlawful restraint, and which would not have been attempted, but only that I am a poor destitute young creature, and have no friend that is able to right me.

  ‘So here, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I, ‘have I given my history in brief. I am very unhappy: and whence my unhappiness? Why, because my master sees something in my person that takes his present fancy; and because I would not be ruined; why, therefore, to chuse, I must, and I shall be ruined! And this is all the reason that can be given!’

  She heard me run on all this time, while I was undressing, without any interruption; and I said, ‘Well, I must go to the two closets, ever since an affair of the closet at the other house, though he is so far off. And I have a good mind to wake this poor maid.’ ‘No, don’t,’ said she, ‘I charge you. I am very angry with her, and she’ll get no harm there; and if she wakes, she will find her way to-bed well enough, as there is a candle in the chimney.’

  So I looked into the closets; and kneeled down in my own, as I used to do, to say my prayers, and this with my under clothes in my hand;188 and passed by the supposed sleeping wench, in my return. But little did I think, it was my wicked, wicked master in a gown and petticoat of her’s, and her apron over his face and shoulders. To what meannesses will not Lucifer make his votaries stoop, to gain their abominable ends!

  Mrs Jewkes by this time was got to-bed, on the further side, as she used to do; and I lay close to her, to make room for the maid, when she should awake. ‘Where are the keys?’ said I, ‘and yet I am not so much afraid to-night.’ ‘Here,’ said the wicked woman, ‘put your arm under mine, and you shall find them about my wrist, as they used to be.’ I did so, and the abominable designer held my hand with her right hand, as my right arm was under her left.

  In less than a quarter of an hour, hearing the supposed maid in motion, ‘Poor Nan is awake,’ said I; ‘I hear her stir.’ ‘Let us go to sleep,’ replied she, ‘and not mind her: she’ll come to bed, when she’s quite awake.’ ‘Poor soul!’ said I, ‘I’ll warrant she will have the head-ach finely to-morrow for this.’ ‘Be silent,’ answered she, ‘and go to sleep; you keep me awake. I never found you in so talkative a humour in my life.’ ‘Don’t chide me,’ said I; ‘I will say but one thing more: do you think Nan could hear me talk of my master’s offers?’ ‘No, no,’ replied she, ‘she was dead asleep.’ ‘I am glad of that,’ said I; ‘because I would not expose my master to his common servants; and I knew you were no stranger to his fine articles.’ ‘I think they were fine articles,’ replied she, ‘and you were bewitched you did not close with them: but let us go to sleep.’

  So I was silent: and the pretended Nan (O wicked, base, villainous designer! what a plot, what an unexpected plot was this!) seemed to be awaking; and Mrs Jewkes, abhorred creature! said, ‘Come, Nan! What, are you awake at last? Pr’ythee come to-bed, for Mrs Pamela is in a talking fit, and won’t go to sleep one while.’

  At that, the pretended she came to the bed-side; and sitting down in a chair concealed by the curtain, began to undress. ‘Poor Mrs Ann,’ said I, ‘I warrant your head aches most sadly! How do you do?’ No answer was returned. ‘You know I have ordered her not to answer you,’ said the abominably wicked woman: this plot, to be sure, was laid when she gave her these orders the night before.

  The pretended Nan (how shocking to relate!) then came into bed, trembling like an aspen-leaf; and I (poor fool that I was!) pitied her much. But well might the barbarous deceiver tremble at his vile-dissimulation, and base designs.

  What words shall I find, my dear mother, (for my father should not see this shocking part) to describe the rest, and my confusion, when the guilty wretch took my left arm, and laid it under his neck as the vile procuress held my right; and then he clasped me round the waist!

  ‘Is the wench mad? ’ said I. ‘Why, how now, confidence?’ thinking still it had been Nan. But he kissed me with frightful vehemence; and then his voice broke upon me like a clap of thunder: ‘Now, Pamela,’ said he, ‘is the time of reckoning come, that I have threatened!’ I screamed out for help; but there was nobody to help me: and both my hands were secured, as I said. Sure never poor soul was in such agonies as I: ‘Wicked man!’ said I; ‘wicked, abominable woman! Good Heaven, this one time! this one time, good Heaven, deliver me, or strike me dead this moment!’ And then I screamed again and again.

  ‘One word with you, Pamela!’ said he. ‘Hear me but one word! Hitherto you find I offer nothing to you.’ ‘Is this nothing,’ said I, ‘to be in bed here? To hold my hands between you?’

  ‘Hear me, Pamela.’ ‘I will hear, if you will this moment leave the bed, and take this vile woman from me!’

  Said she, (O disgrace of womankind!) ‘Don’t stand dilly-dallying, sir. She cannot exclaim worse than she has done; and will be quieter when she knows the worst.’

  ‘Silence!’ said he to her. ‘I must say one word to you, Pamela: it is this; you now see, that you are in my power! You cannot get from me, nor help yourself: yet have I not offered any thing amiss to you. But if you resolve not to comply with my proposals, I will not lose this opportunity. If you do, I will yet leave you. I abhor violence.189 Your compliance, my dear girl, shall intitle you to all I offered you in my proposals.’

  ‘O sir,’ exclaimed I, ‘leave me, do but leave me, and I will do any thing I ought to do.’ ‘Swear then to me,’ said he, ‘that you will accept my proposals!’ And then (for this was all detestable grimace)190 he put his hand in my bosom.191

  With struggling, fright, terror, I quite fainted away, and did not come to myself soon; so that they both, from the cold sweats I was in, thought me dying. And I remember no more, than that, when, with great difficulty, they brought me to myself, she was sitting on one side of the bed, with her clothes on; and he on the other, in his gown and slippers.

  When I saw them there, I sat up in my bed, nothing about my neck, without any regard to what appearance I must make: and he soothing me with an aspect of pity and concern, I put my hand to his mouth, and said, ‘O tell me, yet tell me not, what I have suffered in this distress!’ And I talked quite wild, and knew not what; for I was on the point of distraction.

  He most solemnly, and with a bitter imprecation, vowed, that he had not offered the least indecency; that he was frightened at the terrible manner I was taken with the fit: that he would desist from his attempt; and begged but to see me easy and quiet, and he would leave me directly, and go to his own bed. ‘O then,’ said I, ‘take with you this most wicked woman, this vile Mrs Jewkes, as an earnest that I may believe you! ’

  ‘And will you, sir,’ said the wicked wretch, ‘for a fit or two, give up
such an opportunity as this? I thought you had known the sex better. She is now, you see, quite well again! ’

  This I heard; more she might say; but I fainted away once more, at these words, and at his clasping his arms about me again. And when I came a little to myself, I saw him sit there, and the maid Nan, holding a smelling-bottle to my nose, and no Mrs Jewkes.

  He said, taking my hand, ‘Now will I vow to you, my dear Pamela, that I will leave you the moment I see you better, and pacified. Here’s Nan knows, and will tell you, my concern for you. I vow to Heaven, that I have not offered any indecency to you. And since I found Mrs Jewkes so offensive to you, I have sent her to the maid’s bed. The maid only shall stay with you to-night; and but promise me, that you will compose yourself, and I will leave you.’ ‘But,’ said I, ‘will not Nan also hold my hand? And will not she let you come in again?’ He swore that he would not return that night. ‘Nan,’ said he, ‘do you go to-bed to the dear creature, and say all you can to comfort her: and now, Pamela, give me but your hand, and say you forgive me, and I will leave you to your repose.’

  I held out my trembling hand, which he vouchsafed to kiss; and again demanding my forgiveness, ‘God forgive you, sir,’ said I, ‘as you will be just to what you promise!’ And he withdrew, with a countenance of remorse, as I hoped; and Nan shut the doors, and, at my request, brought the keys to-bed.

  This, O my dear parents! was a most dreadful trial. I tremble still to think of it. I hope, as he assures me, he was not guilty of indecency; but have reason to be thankful that I was disabled in my intellects. Since it is but too probable, that all my resistance, and all my strength, otherwise would not have availed me.

  I was so weak all day on Monday, that I could not get out of bed. My master shewed great tenderness for me; and I hope he is really sorry, and that this will be his last attempt; but he does not say so neither.

  He came in the morning, as soon as he heard the door open: and I began to be fearful. He stopped short of the bed, and said, ‘Rather than give you apprehensions, I will come no further.’ ‘Your honour, sir,’ said I, ‘and your mercy, is all I have to beg.’

  He sat down on the side of the bed, and asked kindly, How I did? He bid me be composed; and said, I still looked a little wildly. ‘Pray, sir,’ said I, ‘let me not see this infamous Mrs Jewkes: I cannot bear her in my sight.’ ‘She shan’t come near you all this day, if you will promise to compose yourself.’ ‘Then, sir, I will try.’ He pressed my hand very tenderly, and went out.

  What a change does this shew! May it be lasting! But, alas! he seems only to have altered his method of proceeding; and retains, I doubt, his wicked purpose!

  On Tuesday about ten o’clock, when he heard I was up, he sent for me down into the parlour. As soon as he saw me, he said, ‘Come nearer to me, Pamela.’ I did, and he took my hand, and said, ‘You begin to look well again: I am glad of it. You little rogue,’ was his free word, ‘how did you frighten me on Sunday night!’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘pray name not that night’; my eyes overflowing at the remembrance: and I turned my head aside.

  ‘Place some little confidence in me,’ said he. ‘I know what those charming eyes mean, and you shall not need to explain yourself. I do assure you, that the moment you fainted away, I quitted the bed, and Mrs Jewkes did so too. I put on my gown, and she fetched her smelling-bottle, and we both did all we could to restore you; and my passion for you was all swallowed up in the concern I had for your recovery; for I thought I never saw a fit so strong and violent in my life; and feared we should not bring you to yourself again. My apprehensions for you, might possibly be owing to my folly, and my unacquaintedness with what your sex can shew when they are in earnest. But this I repeat to you, that your mind may be entirely comforted: all that I offered to you was before you fainted away. You yourself are sensible, that that was rather what might excite your fears, than deserve your censure. You have nothing, therefore, to make yourself uneasy at, or to reproach me with on the occasion you take so much at heart.’

  ‘What you refer to, sir,’ said I, ‘was very bad: and it was too plain, you had the worst designs.’ ‘When I tell you the truth in one instance,’ replied he, ‘you may believe me in the other. I know not, I declare, beyond that lovely bosom, that you are a woman; but that I did intend what you call the worst, is most certain: and though I would not too much alarm you now, I could curse my weakness and my folly, which makes me own, that I cannot live without you. But, if I am master of myself, and my own resolution, I will not attempt to compel you to any thing.’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘you may easily keep your resolution, if you will send me out of your way, to my parents; and that is all I beg.’

  ‘’Tis a folly to talk of it,’ said he. ‘You must not, shall not go. And if I could be assured you would not attempt it, your stay here should be made agreeable to you.’ ‘But to what end, sir, am I to stay?’ said I: ‘you yourself seem not sure you can keep your own present good resolutions; and what would you think of me, were I to stay to my danger, if I could get away in safety? And what will the world–’

  ‘The world, pretty simpleton!’ interrupted he: ‘what has the world to do between you and me? But I now sent for you for two reasons; the first is, to engage you to promise me for a fortnight to come, that you will not offer to go away without my consent; and this I expect for your own sake, that I may give you more liberty. The second, that you will see Mrs Jewkes, and forgive her. She is much concerned, and thinks, that, as all her fault was her obedience to me, it would be very cruel to sacrifice her, as she calls it, to your resentment.’

  ‘As to the first, sir,’ said I, ‘it is a hard injunction: and as to the second, considering Mrs Jewkes’s vile unwomanly wickedness, and her endeavours to instigate you to ruin me, when you, from your returning goodness, seemed to have some compassion for me, it is still harder. But to shew my compliance in all I can comply with’ [for you know, my dear parents, I might as well make a merit of complying, when my refusal would stand me in no stead] ‘I will consent to both.’

  ‘That’s my good girl!’ said he, and kissed me. ‘This is quite prudent, and shews me, that you don’t take insolent advantage of my passion for you; and will, perhaps, stand you in more stead than you are aware of.’

  He then rung the bell, and said, ‘Call down Mrs Jewkes.’ She came down, and he took my hand, and put it into hers; and said, ‘Mrs Jewkes, I am obliged to you for your diligence and fidelity; but Pamela must be allowed to think she is not; because the service I employed you in was not so agreeable to her, as I could have wished she would have thought it; and you were not to favour her, but obey me. But yet I assure you, at the very first word, she has once obliged me, by consenting to be reconciled to you; and if she gives me no great cause, I shall not, perhaps, put you on such disagreeable service again. Now, therefore, be you once more bedfellows and board-fellows, as I may say, for some days longer; and see that Pamela sends no letters nor messages out of the house, nor keeps a correspondence unknown to me, especially with that Williams; and, as for the rest, shew the dear girl all the respect that is due to one I must love, and who yet, I hope, will deserve my love; and let her be under no unnecessary restraints. But your watchful care is not, however, to cease: and remember, that you are not to disoblige me, to oblige her; and that I will not, cannot, yet part with her.’

  Mrs Jewkes looked very sullen, and as if she would be glad still to do me a good turn, if it lay in her power.

  I took courage then to drop a word or two for poor Mr Williams; but he was angry, and said, he could not endure to hear his name, in my mouth.

  I begged for leave to send a letter to you, my dear father. So I should, he said, if he might read it first. But this did not answer my design; and yet I would have sent you such a letter as he might have seen, if I had been sure my danger was over. But that I cannot; for he now seems to be taking another method: a method which I am still more apprehensive of, than I was of his more open and haughty behaviour; because he may now perha
ps resolve to watch an opportunity, and join force with it, when I least think of my danger: for now he seems all kindness. He talks of love without reserve; and makes nothing of allowing himself the liberty of kissing me, which he calls innocent; but which I do not like; since for a master to take such freedoms with a servant, has meaning too much in it, not to alarm.

  Just this moment I have a confirmation of what I thought of his designs in his change of behaviour to me; for I over heard him say to the wicked woman, who very likely (for I heard not what she said) had been instigating him again, ‘I have begun wrong. Terror does but add to her frost. But she is a charming girl; and may be thawed by kindness. I should have sought to melt her by love.’

  What an abominable man is this! Yet his mother so good a woman! He says I must stay a fortnight. What a dangerous fortnight may this be to your poor girl! But I trust that God will enable me (as is my constant prayer) to be proof against his vileness.

  WEDNESDAY Morning

  This wicked man – He cannot deserve to be called a gentleman. I believe I shall lose all my reverence for him. He seems to be putting in practice his vile arts. He sent for me down. I went. There was no helping that, you know. ‘We will take a walk in the garden,’ said he, taking my hand, and led me into it. What signified denying to go? Should he have base designs, thought I, I am as much in danger in the house, with such a vile woman, as in the garden. But what I had heard, you may suppose, was in my head, and I could not but be apprehensive: though I dared not to own I had over heard what he said, lest he should think me a listener: but if I was, in such a situation, I am excusable.