Pamela

by Samuel Richardson

  I wept, and resisting said, ’ I will not be used in this manner. Pray, sir, consider! Pray, sir, consider!’ ‘And, pray,’ said he, ‘do you consider. For I will see these papers. But, perhaps,’ said the wicked wretch, (was ever any one so vile!) ‘they are tied about your knees with your garters’; and stooped. I fell on my knees, excessively affrighted; but yet speechless for a few moments. He seemed alarmed at my being ready to faint. ‘Will you, on your honour,’ said he, ‘if I let you go up, bring them down to me, uncurtailed, and not offer to make away a single paper?’ ‘I will, sir.’ ‘On your honour? ’ ‘Yes, sir.’

  And so he raised me, and let me go up stairs, I crying for vexation all the way.

  I went to my closet, and there sitting down, and recollecting every thing, I could not bear the thoughts of giving up my papers; nor of undressing myself, as was necessary to be done, to untack them, so I writ thus:

  ‘SIR,

  ‘To expostulate with such an arbitrary gendeman, I am afraid will signify nothing. And most hardly do you use the power you so illegally have obtained over me. I can hardly bear the usage I receive from you, and my apprehensions of what I may have still to suffer. Let me beseech you, sir, not to insist upon the performance of the promise you extorted from me. Yet, if you do, allow me till to-morrow morning, that I may just run my papers over, and see what I put into your hands against myself; and if it must be so, I will then give them to you, without the least addition or diminution.’

  In less than half an hour he sent up Mrs Jewkes for what I had promised; and I gave her the above note to carry to him. He read it, and sent me word, that I must keep my promise strictly, and he would give me till morning; but that I must bring to him what he expected, without his asking for them again.

  So I took off my under-coat, and with great trouble of mind unscrewed the papers. There is a vast quantity of writing. I will just slightly mention the subjects; because I may not, perhaps, get them again for you to see.

  They begin with an account of my getting out of the window; and throwing my petticoat and handkerchief into the pond. Of my disappointment in finding the lock of the back-door changed. Of my trying to climb over the door; and the bricks giving way, of my felling down, some of them tumbling upon me, and miserably bruising me; for so, my dear father and mother, it fell out Then I relate, that finding I could not get off, and dreading the hard usage I expected to receive, I was so wicked as to think of throwing myself into the water; and my sad reflections upon this matter. How Mrs Jewkes used me on this occasion, when she found me. How my master had like to have been drowned in hunting; and my concern for his danger, notwithstanding his usage of me. I then mention Mrs Jewkes’s wicked reports raised to frighten me, that I was to be married to an ugly Swiss; who was to sell me on the wedding-day to my master. Her vile way of talking to me like a London prostitute. My apprehensions on seeing preparations made for my master’s coming. Her bad usage of me on a suspicion that I was trying to get away again. My master’s dreadful arrival; and his hard, very hard treatment of me; and Mrs Jewkes’s insulting me. His jealousy of Mr Williams; and of the vile Mrs Jewkes’s instigating him to ruin me. And down to this place I made one parcel, hoping that would content him. But for fear it should not, I put into another parcel the papers that contain the following particulars.

  A copy of his proposals to me, of a great parcel of gold, and fine clothes and rings, and an estate of I can’t tell how much a year; and fifty pounds a year for the life of both you, my dear parents, on condition I would be his kept mistress; with an insinuation, that, perhaps, he would marry me at a year’s end. All sadly vile; with threatenings, if I did not comply, that he would ruin me, without allowing me any thing. A copy of my answer, refusing all with just abhorrence; but begging, in the conclusion, his mercy, in the most moving manner I could think of. An account of his angry behaviour, and Mrs Jewkes’s wicked advice hereupon. His trying to get me to his chamber; and my refusal to go. A deal of stuff and chit-chat between me and the odious Mrs Jewkes; in which she was very wicked and very insulting. Two notes I wrote, as if to be carried to church, to pray for his reclaiming, and my safety; which Mrs Jewkes seized, and officiously shewed him. A confession of mine, that notwithstanding his bad usage, I could not hate him. My concern for Mr Williams. A horrid contrivance of my master to ruin me; being in my room disguised in clothes of the maid, who lay with me and Mrs Jewkes. How narrowly I escaped, by falling into fits. Mrs Jewkes’s detestable part in this sad affair. How he seemed moved at my danger, and forebore his abominable designs. How ill I was for a day or two after; and how kind he seemed. Of his making me forgive Mrs Jewkes. How, after this, and great kindness pretended, he made rude offers to me in the garden; which I escaped. How I resented them.

  Then I had written, how kindly he behaved himself to me; and praised me, and gave me great hopes of his being good at last. Of the too tender impression this made upon me; and how I began to be afraid of my own consideration for him, though he had used me so ill. How sadly jealous he was of Mr Williams, and how I, as I justly could, cleared myself as to his doubts on that score. How, when he had raised me to the highest hope of his goodness, he went off more coldly. My free reflections upon this trying occasion.

  This brought matters down from Thursday the 20th day of my imprisonment, to Wednesday the 41st. And here I resolved to end; for only what passed on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, remain to give an account of; and Thursday he set out to a ball at Stamford; and Friday was an odd story about a gypsey; and this is Saturday, his return from a ball at Stamford. But I shall have little heart to take pen in hand for the future, if he is so resolved to see all I write.

  These two parcels of papers I have got ready for him against tomorrow morning. I have indeed always used him very freely in my writings; but he must thank himself for that: since I have only writ the truth; and I wish he had deserved a better character at my hands, as well for his own sake, as mine.

  SUNDAY Morning

  Remembering he had sent me word, that I must bring him my papers, without obliging him to ask for them again, I thought it was better to do that which I should be forced to do, in such a manner as might shew I would not disoblige on purpose: and therefore on his sending Mrs Jewkes to tell me, that he should not go to church this morning, and was gone into the garden, I went with my two parcels, though stomaching the matter very heavily. Yet, on my entering the garden, as he walked in one walk, I took another; that I might not seem too forward neither.

  He soon spied me, and said, ‘Do you expect, Pamela, when I complied with your request yesterday, to be entreated to perform conditions with me? Why take you that walk, if you think of your promise, and of my goodness to you?’ I say goodness! thought I. ‘I might not know,’ returned I (as I crossed the walk to attend him) ‘but I should interrupt, you, sir, in your meditations this good day.’

  ‘Was that the case,’ said he, ‘truly, and from your heart?’ ‘I don’t doubt, sir,’ answered I, ‘but you have very good thoughts sometimes; though not towards me!’ ‘I wish,’ said he, ‘I could avoid dunking so well of you, as I do. But where are the papers? I dare say, you had them about you yesterday, for you say in those I have, that you will bury your writings in the garden, for fear you should be searched, if you do not escape. This,’ added he, ‘gave me a noble pretence to search you; and I have been vexing myself all night, that I did not strip you garment by garment, till I had found them. And I hope that you come now rather resolving to trifle with me, than to give them up with a grace; for I assure you, I had rather find them myself.’

  I did not like this way of talk; and thinking it best, to cut it short, pulling the first parcel out of my pocket, ‘Here, sir,’ said I, ‘since I cannot be excused, is the parcel, that goes on with my fruitless attempt to escape, and the terrible consequences it had like to have had. And it goes down to the wicked articles you sent me. You know all that has happened since.’

  He was going to speak; but I said, to drive him from
thinking of any more, than that parcel, ‘And I must beg of you, sir, to read them with favour, in such places as I may have treated you with freedom; and allow for the occasions: but if you will be pleased to return them, without breaking the seal, it will be very generous: and I will take it for a great favour, and a good omen.’

  He took the parcel, and broke the seal instantly. ‘So much for your omen! replied he. ‘I am sorry for it,’ said I, very seriously; and was walking away. ‘Whither now?’ said he. ‘I was going in, sir, that you might read them (since you will read them) without interruption.’ He put them into his pocket, and said, ‘You have more than these. I am sure you have. Tell me truth.’ ‘I have, sir, I own. But you know as well as I all that they contain.’ ‘But I don’t know,’ said he, ‘the light you represent things in. Give them to me, therefore, if you have not a mind that I should search for them myself.’ ‘Why then, unkind sir, if it must be so, here they are.’

  And so I gave him, out of my pocket, the second parcel, sealed up, as the former, with this superscription; From the wicked articles, down through vile attempts, to Thursday the 42nd day of my imprisonment. ‘ This is last Thursday, is it?’ ‘Yes, sir; but now that you seem determined to see every thing I write, I will find some other way to employ my time.’

  ‘I would have you,’ said he, ‘continue writing by all means; and I assure you, in the mind I am in, I will not ask you for any papers after these; except something very extraordinary happens. And if you send for those from your father, and let me read them, I may very probably give them all back again to you. I desire therefore that you will.’

  This hope a little encourages me to continue my scribbling; but, for fear of the worbt, I will, when they come to any bulk, contrive some way to hide them, that I may protest I have them not about me, which, before, I could not say of a truth.

  He led me then to the side of the pond; and sitting down on the slope, made me sit by him. ‘Come,’ said he, ‘this being the scene of part of your project, and where you so artfully threw in some of your clothes, I will just look upon that part of your relation here.’ ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘let me then walk about at a little distance; for I cannot bear the thought of it.’ ‘Don’t go far,’ said he.

  When he came, as I suppose, to the place where I mentioned the bricks falling upon me, he got up, and walked to the door, and looked upon the broken part of the wall; for it had not been mended; and reading on to himself, came towards me; and took my hand, and put it under his arm.

  ‘Why this,’ said he, ‘my girl, is a very moving tale. It was a very desperate attempt, and had you got out, you might have been in great danger; for you had a very bad and lonely way; and I had taken such measures, that let you have been where you would, I should have had you.’

  ‘All I ventured, and all I suffered, was nothing, sir, to what I apprehended. You will be so good from hence to judge –’ ‘Romantic girl!’ interrupted he, ‘I know what you’d say,’ and read on.

  He was very serious at my reflections, on what God enabled me to escape. And when he came to my reasonings, about throwing myself into the water, he said, ‘Walk gently before’; and seemed so moved, that he turned away his face from me; and I blessed this good sign, and began not so much to repent his seeing this mournful part of my story.

  He put the papers in his pocket, when he had read my reflections, and my thanks for escaping from myself; and said, taking me about the waist, ‘O my dear girl! you have touched me sensibly with your mournful tale, and your reflections upon it. I should truly have been very miserable had that happened which might have happened. I see you have been used too roughly; and it is a mercy you stood proof in that dangerous moment.’

  Then he most kindly folded me in his arms. ‘Let us, say I, my Pamela, walk from this accursed piece of water; for I shall never look upon it again with pleasure. I thought,’ added he, ‘of terrifying you to my will, since I could not move you by love; and Mrs Jewkes too well obeyed me, when the effect had like to have been so fatal to my girl.’

  ‘O sir,’ said I, ‘I have reason to bless my dear parents, and my good lady, for giving me a religious education; since but for that, I should, upon more occasions than one, have attempted a desperate act: and I the less wonder how poor creatures, who have not the fear of God before their eyes, and give way to despondency, cast themselves into perdition.’

  ‘Give me a kiss, my dear girl,’ said he, ‘and tell me you forgive me, for plunging you into so much danger and distress. If my mind hold, and I can see these former papers of yours, and that these in my pocket give me no cause to alter my opinion, I will endeavour to defy the world, and the world’s censures, and, if it be in the power of my whole life, make my Pamela amends for all the hardships she has undergone by my means.’

  I could hardly suppress my joyful emotions on this occasion. But fears will ever mingle with one’s hopes, where a great and unexpected, yet uncertain good opens to one’s view. And this sham-marriage, then coming into my mind, ‘O sir,’ said I, ‘what do you bid me look up to? Your poor servant can never wish to create envy to herself, and discredit to you! Therefore, sir, permit me to return to my parents, and that is all I have to ask.’

  He flew into a violent passion. ‘And is it thus,’ said he, ‘in my fond conceding moments, that I am to be answered? Precise, perverse, unseasonable Pamela! be gone from my sight, and know as well how to behave in a hopeful prospect, as in a distressed state; and then, and not till then, shalt thou attract the shadow of my notice.’

  I was startled, and would have spoken: but he stamped with his foot, and said, ‘Begone, I tell you. I cannot bear this romantic, this stupid folly.’

  ‘One word,’ said I; ‘but one word, I beseech you, sir.’

  He turned from me in great wrath, and took down another alley, and I went in with a very heavy heart. I fear I was indeed foolishly unseasonable: but if it was a piece of art of his side, as I apprehended, to introduce the sham-wedding, (and to be sure he is very full of his devices) I think I was not so much to blame.

  I went up to my closet; and wrote thus far. He walked about till dinner was ready; and is now set down to it. Mrs Jewkes tells me he is very thoughtful, and out of humour; and asked, what I had done to him?

  Now again, I dread to see him! When will my fears be over?

  Three o’clock

  He continues exceedingly wroth. He has ordered his travelling chariot to be got ready with all speed. What is to come next, I wonder!

  Sure I did not say so much! But see the lordliness of a high condition! A person of low degree must not put in a word, when the great take it into their heads to be angry! What a fine time a young creature of unequal condition would have, if she were even to marry such an one! My good lady, his dear mother, spoiled him at first. Nobody must speak to him, or contradict him, as I have heard, when he was a child; and so he has not been used to be controuled, and cannot bear the least thing mat crosses his violent will. This is one of the blessings attending men of high condition! Much good may do them with their pride of birth, and pride of fortune! All that it serves for, as far as I can see, is to multiply their disquiets, and every body’s else, that has to do with them.

  So, so! where will this end! Mrs Jewkes has been with me from him, and she says, I must quit the house this moment! ‘Well,’ said I, ‘but whither am I to be carried next?’ ‘Why, home,’ said she, ‘to your father and mother.’ ‘And, can it be?’ said I: ‘no, no, I doubt I am not to be so happy as that! To be sure, some bad design is on foot again! To be sure it is! Sure, sure, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I, ‘he has not found out some other house-keeper worse than you!’

  She was very angry, you may well mink; and went from me muttering.

  She came up again. ‘Are you ready?’ said she. ‘Bless me!’ said I, ‘you are very hasty: I have heard of this not a quarter of an hour ago. But I shall be soon ready; for I have but little to take with me, and no kind friends in this house to take leave of, to delay me.’ Yet, like a fo
ol, I could not help crying. ‘Pray,’ said I, ‘just step down, and ask, if I may not have my papers? ’

  I don’t know what to think, nor how to judge; but I shall never believe I am with you, till I am on my knees before you, begging both your blessings. Yet I am sorry he is so angry with me ! I thought I did not say so much.

  There is, I see, the chariot drawn out, the horses too, the grim Colbrand going to get on horse-back. What will be the end of all this?

  I am quite ready now; and only wait for an answer about my papers. And so I will put in my bosom the few I have left. But did I say so much?

  THE END OF VOLUME I

  VOLUME II

  THE JOURNAL CONTINUED

  SUNDAY Night,

  207 near Nine o’clock

  Well, my dear parents, here I am (would you believe it?) at an inn in a poor little village, almost such a one as yours; I shall learn the name of it by-and-by. And Robin assures me he has orders to carry me to you. O that he may say truth, and not deceive me again! But having nothing else to do (and I am sure I shall not sleep a wink to-night, were I to go to-bed) I will write my time away, and take up my story where I left off, at three o’clock this day.

  Mrs Jewkes came up to me, with this answer about my papers, ‘My master says he will not read them yet, lest he should be moved by any thing in them to alter his resolution. But, if he shall think it worth while to read them, he will send them to you afterwards to your father’s. But,’ said she, ‘here is the money that I borrowed of you: for all is over with you now, I find.’