Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
self!
He kissed me for all I could do; and said, Impossible! you are a
lovelier girl by half than Pamela; and sure I may be innocently free
with you, though I would not do her so much favour.
This was a sad trick upon me, indeed, and what I could not expect; and
Mrs. Jervis looked like a fool as much as I, for her officiousness.—At
last I got away, and ran out of the parlour, most sadly vexed, as you
may well think.
He talked a good deal to Mrs. Jervis, and at last ordered me to come in
to him. Come in, said he, you little villain!—for so he called me.
(Good sirs! what a name was there!)—who is it you put your tricks upon?
I was resolved never to honour your unworthiness, said he, with so much
notice again; and so you must disguise yourself to attract me, and yet
pretend, like an hypocrite as you are——
I was out of patience then: Hold, good sir, said I; don’t impute
disguise and hypocrisy to me, above all things; for I hate them both,
mean as I am. I have put on no disguise.—What a plague, said he, for
that was his word, do you mean then by this dress?—Why, and please your
honour, said I, I mean one of the honestest things in the world.
I have been in disguise, indeed, ever since my good lady your mother
took me from my poor parents. I came to her ladyship so poor and mean,
that these clothes I have on, are a princely suit to those I had then:
and her goodness heaped upon me rich clothes, and other bounties: and
as I am now returning to my poor parents again so soon, I cannot wear
those good things without being hooted at; and so have bought what will
be more suitable to my degree, and be a good holiday-suit too, when I
get home.
He then took me in his arms, and presently pushed me from him. Mrs.
Jervis, said he, take the little witch from me; I can neither bear, nor
forbear her—(Strange words these!)—But stay; you shan’t go!—Yet
begone!—No, come back again.
I thought he was mad, for my share; for he knew not what he would have.
I was going, however; but he stept after me, and took hold of my arm,
and brought me in again: I am sure he made my arm black and blue; for
the marks are upon it still. Sir, sir, said I, pray have mercy; I will,
I will come in!
He sat down, and looked at me, and, as I thought afterwards, as sillily
as such a poor girl as I. At last he said, Well, Mrs. Jervis, as I was
telling you, you may permit her to stay a little longer, till I see if
my sister Davers will have her; if, mean time, she humble herself, and
ask this as a favour, and is sorry for her pertness, and the liberty
she has taken with my character out of the house, and in the house.
Your honour indeed told me so, said Mrs. Jervis: but I never found her
inclinable to think herself in a fault. Pride and perverseness, said
he, with a vengeance! Yet this is your doating-piece!—Well, for once,
I’ll submit myself to tell you, hussy, said he to me, you may stay a
fortnight longer, till I see my sister Davers: Do you hear what I say
to you, statue? Can you neither speak nor be thankful?—Your honour
frights me so, said I, that I can hardly speak: But I will venture to
say, that I have only to beg, as a favour, that I may go to my father
and mother.—Why fool, said he, won’t you like to go to wait on my
sister Davers? Sir, said I, I was once fond of that honour; but you
were pleased to say, I might be in danger from her ladyship’s nephew,
or he from me.—D——d impertinence! said he; Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, do
you hear, how she retorts upon me? Was ever such matchless assurance!——
I then fell a weeping; for Mrs. Jervis said, Fie, Pamela, fie!—And I
said, My lot is very hard indeed; I am sure I would hurt nobody; and I
have been, it seems, guilty of indiscretions, which have cost me my
place, and my master’s favour, and so have been turned away: and when
the time is come, that I should return to my poor parents, I am not
suffered to go quietly. Good your honour, what have I done, that I must
be used worse than if I had robbed you?
Robbed me! said he, why so you have, hussy; you have robbed me. Who? I,
sir? said I; have I robbed you? Why then you are a justice of peace,
and may send me to gaol, if you please, and bring me to a trial for my
life! If you can prove that I have robbed you, I am sure I ought to
die.
Now I was quite ignorant of his meaning; though I did not like it, when
it was afterwards explained, neither: And well, thought I, what will
this come to at last, if poor Pamela is esteemed a thief! Then I
thought in an instant, how I should shew my face to my honest poor
parents, if I was but suspected. But, sir, said I, let me ask you but
one question, and pray don’t let me be called names for it; for I don’t
mean disrespectfully: Why, if I have done amiss, am I not left to be
discharged by your housekeeper, as the other maids have been? And if
Jane, or Rachel, or Hannah, were to offend, would your honour stoop to
take notice of them? And why should you so demean yourself to take
notice of me? Pray, sir, if I have not been worse than others, why
should I suffer more than others? and why should I not be turned away,
and there’s an end of it? For indeed I am not of consequence enough for
my master to concern himself, and be angry about such a creature as me.
Do you hear, Mrs. Jervis, cried he again, how pertly I am interrogated
by this saucy slut? Why, sauce-box, says he, did not my good mother
desire me to take care of you? And have you not been always
distinguished by me, above a common servant? And does your ingratitude
upbraid me for this?
I said something mutteringly, and he vowed he would hear it. I begged
excuse; but he insisted upon it. Why, then, said I, if your honour must
know, I said, That my good lady did not desire your care to extend to
the summer-house, and her dressing-room.
Well, this was a little saucy, you’ll say—And he flew into such a
passion, that I was forced to run for it; and Mrs. Jervis said, It was
happy I got out of the way.
Why what makes him provoke one so, then?—I’m almost sorry for it; but I
would be glad to get away at any rate. For I begin to be more fearful
now.
Just now Mr. Jonathan sent me these lines—(Bless me! what shall I do?)
‘Dear Mrs. Pamela, Take care of yourself; for Rachel heard my master
say to Mrs. Jervis, who, she believes, was pleading for you, Say no
more, Mrs. Jervis; for by G—d I will have her! Burn this instantly.’
O pray for your poor daughter. I am called to go to bed by Mrs. Jervis,
for it is past eleven; and I am sure she shall hear of it; for all this
is owing to her, though she did not mean any harm. But I have been, and
am, in a strange fluster; and I suppose too, she’ll say, I have been
full pert.
O my dear father and mother, power and riches never want advocates!
But, poor gentlewoman, she cannot live without him: and he has been
very good to her.
So good night. May be I shall send this in the morning; but may be not;
so won’t conclude: though I can’t say too often, that I am (though with
great apprehension)
Your most dutiful DAUGHTER.
LETTER XXV
MY DEAR PARENTS,
O let me take up my complaint, and say, Never was poor creature so
unhappy, and so barbarously used, as poor Pamela! Indeed, my dear
father and mother, my heart’s just broke! I can neither write as I
should do, nor let it alone, for to whom but you can I vent my griefs,
and keep my poor heart from bursting! Wicked, wicked man!—I have no
patience when I think of him!—But yet, don’t be frightened—for—I hope—I
hope, I am honest!—But if my head and my hand will let me, you shall
hear all.—Is there no constable, nor headborough, though, to take me
out of his house? for I am sure I can safely swear the peace against
him: But, alas! he is greater than any constable: he is a justice
himself: Such a justice deliver me from!—But God Almighty, I hope, in
time, will right me—For he knows the innocence of my heart!
John went your way in the morning; but I have been too much distracted
to send by him; and have seen nobody but Mrs. Jervis or Rachel, and one
I hate to see or be seen by and indeed I hate now to see any body.
Strange things I have to tell you, that happened since last night, that
good Mr. Jonathan’s letter, and my master’s harshness, put me into such
a fluster; but I will not keep you in suspense.
I went to Mrs. Jervis’s chamber; and, O dreadful! my wicked master had
hid himself, base gentleman as he is! in her closet, where she has a
few books, and chest of drawers, and such like. I little suspected it;
though I used, till this sad night, always to look into that closet and
another in the room, and under the bed, ever since the summer-house
trick; but never found any thing; and so I did not do it then, being
fully resolved to be angry with Mrs. Jervis for what had happened in
the day, and so thought of nothing else.
I sat myself down on one side of the bed, and she on the other, and we
began to undress ourselves; but she on that side next the wicked
closet, that held the worst heart in the world. So, said Mrs. Jervis,
you won’t speak to me, Pamela! I find you are angry with me. Why, Mrs.
Jervis, said I, so I am, a little; ’tis a folly to deny it. You see
what I have suffered by your forcing me in to my master: and a
gentlewoman of your years and experience must needs know, that it was
not fit for me to pretend to be any body else for my own sake, nor with
regard to my master.
But, said she, who would have thought it would have turned out so? Ay,
said I, little thinking who heard me, Lucifer always is ready to
promote his own work and workmen. You see presently what use he made of
it, pretending not to know me, on purpose to be free with me. And when
he took upon himself to know me, to quarrel with me, and use me hardly:
And you too, said I, to cry, Fie, fie, Pamela! cut me to the heart: for
that encouraged him.
Do you think, my dear, said she, that I would encourage him?—I never
said so to you before; but, since you have forced it from me, I must
tell you, that, ever since you consulted me, I have used my utmost
endeavours to divert him from his wicked purposes: and he has promised
fair; but, to say all in a word, he doats upon you; and I begin to see
it is not in his power to help it.
I luckily said nothing of the note from Mr. Jonathan; for I began to
suspect all the world almost: but I said, to try Mrs. Jervis, Well
then, what would you have me do? You see he is for having me wait on
Lady Davers now.
Why, I’ll tell you freely, my dear Pamela, said she, and I trust to
your discretion to conceal what I say: my master has been often
desiring me to put you upon asking him to let you stay——
Yes, said I, Mrs. Jervis, let me interrupt you: I will tell you why I
could not think of that: It was not the pride of my heart, but the
pride of my honesty: For what must have been the case? Here my master
has been very rude to me, once and twice; and you say he cannot help
it, though he pretends to be sorry for it: Well, he has given me
warning to leave my place, and uses me very harshly; perhaps to
frighten me to his purposes, as he supposes I would be fond of staying
(as indeed I should, if I could be safe; for I love you and all the
house, and value him, if he would act as my master). Well then, as I
know his designs, and that he owns he cannot help it; must I have asked
to stay, knowing he would attempt me again? for all you could assure me
of, was, he would do nothing by force; so I, a poor weak girl, was to
be left to my own strength! And was not this to allow him to tempt me,
as one may say? and to encourage him to go on in his wicked
devices?—How then, Mrs. Jervis, could I ask or wish to stay?
You say well, my dear child, says she; and you have a justness of