Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
which, being near, was immediate; and she followed him. What should I
do with beans? said she,—and sadly scared me; for she whispered me, I
am afraid of some fetch! You don’t use to send on such simple
errands.—What fetch? said I: It is hard I can neither stir, nor speak,
but I must be suspected.—Why, said she, my master writes, that I must
have all my eyes about me; for though you are as innocent as a dove,
yet you are as cunning as a serpent. But I’ll forgive you, if you cheat
me.
Then I thought of my money, and could have called her names, had I
dared: And I said, Pray Mrs. Jewkes, now you talk of forgiving me, if I
cheat you, be so kind as to pay me my money; for though I have no
occasion for it, yet I know you was but in jest, and intended to give
it me again. You shall have it in a proper time, said she; but, indeed,
I was in earnest to get it out of your hands, for fear you should make
an ill use of it. And so we cavilled upon this subject as we walked in,
and I went up to write my letter to my master; and, as I intended to
shew it her, I resolved to write accordingly as to her part of it; for
I made little account of his offer of Mrs. Jervis to me, instead of
this wicked woman, (though the most agreeable thing that could have
befallen me, except my escape from hence,) nor indeed any thing he
said. For to be honourable, in the just sense of the word, he need not
have caused me to be run away with, and confined as I am. I wrote as
follows:
‘HONOURED SIR,
‘When I consider how easily you might make me happy, since all I desire
is to be permitted to go to my poor father and mother; when I reflect
upon your former proposal to me in relation to a certain person, not
one word of which is now mentioned; and upon my being in that strange
manner run away with, and still kept here a miserable prisoner; do you
think, sir, (pardon your poor servant’s freedom; my fears make me bold;
do you think, I say,) that your general assurances of honour to me, can
have the effect upon me, that, were it not for these things, all your
words ought to have?—O, good sir! I too much apprehend that your
notions of honour and mine are very different from one another: and I
have no other hopes but in your continued absence. If you have any
proposals to make me, that are consistent with your honourable
professions, in my humble sense of the word, a few lines will
communicate them to me, and I will return such an answer as befits me.
But, oh! What proposals can one in your high station have to make to
one in my low one! I know what belongs to your degree too well, to
imagine, that any thing can be expected but sad temptations, and utter
distress, if you come down; and you know not, sir, when I am made
desperate, what the wretched Pamela dares to do!
‘Whatever rashness you may impute to me, I cannot help it; but I wish I
may not be forced upon any, that otherwise would never enter into my
thoughts. Forgive me, sir, my plainness; I should be loath to behave to
my master unbecomingly; but I must needs say, sir, my innocence is so
dear to me, that all other considerations are, and, I hope, shall ever
be, treated by me as niceties, that ought, for that, to be dispensed
with. If you mean honourably, why, sir, should you not let me know it
plainly? Why is it necessary to imprison me, to convince me of it? And
why must I be close watched, and attended, hindered from stirring out,
from speaking to any body, from going so much as to church to pray for
you, who have been, till of late, so generous a benefactor to me? Why,
sir, I humbly ask, why all this, if you mean honourably?—It is not for
me to expostulate so freely, but in a case so near to me, with you,
sir, so greatly my superior. Pardon me, I hope you will; but as to
seeing you, I cannot bear the dreadful apprehension. Whatever you have
to propose, whatever you intend by me, let my assent be that of a free
person, mean as I am, and not of a sordid slave, who is to be
threatened and frightened into a compliance with measures, which your
conduct to her seems to imply would be otherwise abhorred by her.—My
restraint is indeed hard upon me: I am very uneasy under it. Shorten
it, I beseech you, or—but I will not dare to say more, than that I am
‘Your greatly oppressed unhappy servant.’
After I had taken a copy of this, I folded it up; and Mrs. Jewkes,
coming just as I had done, sat down by me; and said, when she saw me
direct it, I wish you would tell me if you have taken my advice, and
consented to my master’s coming down. If it will oblige you, said I, I
will read it to you. That’s good, said she; then I’ll love you
dearly.—Said I, Then you must not offer to alter one word. I won’t,
replied she. So I read it to her, and she praised me much for my
wording it; but said she thought I pushed the matter very close; and it
would better bear talking of, than writing about. She wanted an
explanation or two, as about the proposal to a certain person; but I
said, she must take it as she heard it. Well, well, said she, I make no
doubt you understand one another, and will do so more and more. I
sealed up the letter, and she undertook to convey it.
Sunday.
For my part, I knew it in vain to expect to have leave to go to church
now, and so I did not ask; and I was the more indifferent, because, if
I might have had permission, the sight of the neighbouring gentry, who
had despised my sufferings, would have given me great regret and
sorrow; and it was impossible I should have edified under any doctrine
preached by Mr. Peters: So I applied myself to my private devotions.
Mr. Williams came yesterday, and this day, as usual, and took my
letter; but, having no good opportunity, we avoided one another’s
conversation, and kept at a distance: But I was concerned I had not the
key; for I would not have lost a moment in that case, had I been he,
and he I. When I was at my devotion, Mrs. Jewkes came up, and wanted me
sadly to sing her a psalm, as she had often on common days importuned
me for a song upon the spinnet: but I declined it, because my spirits
were so low I could hardly speak, nor cared to be spoken to; but when
she was gone, I remembering the cxxxviith psalm to be a little
touching, turned to it, and took the liberty to alter it, somewhat
nearer to my case. I hope I did not sin in it; but thus I turned it:
I.
When sad I sat in B——n Hall,
All guarded round about,
And thought of ev’ry absent friend,
The tears for grief burst out.
II.
My joys and hopes all overthrown,
My heart-strings almost broke,
Unfit my mind for melody,
Much more to bear a joke.
III.
Then she to whom I pris’ner was,
Said to me, tauntingly,
Now cheer your heart, and sing a song
And tune your mind to joy.
IV.
Alas! said I, how can I frame
My heavy heart to sing,
Or tune my mind, while thus enthrall’d
By such a wicked thing!
V.
But yet, if from my innocence
I, ev’n in thought, should slide,
Then let my fingers quite forget
The sweet spinnet to guide.
VI.
And let my tongue within my mouth
Be lock’d for ever fast,
If I rejoice, before I see
My full deliv’rance past.
VII.
And thou, Almighty, recompense
The evils I endure,
From those who seek my sad disgrace,
So causeless, to procure.
VIII.
Remember, Lord, this Mrs. Jewkes,
When, with a mighty sound,
She cries, Down with her chastity,
Down to the very ground!
IX.
Ev’n so shalt thou, O wicked one!
At length to shame be brought,
And happy shall all those be call’d
That my deliv’rance wrought.
X.
Yea, blessed shall the man be called
That shames thee of thy evil,
And saves me from thy vile attempts,
And thee, too, from the d—l.
Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.
I write now with a little more liking, though less opportunity, because
Mr. Williams has got a large parcel of my papers, safe in his hands, to
send them to you, as he has opportunity; so I am not quite uselessly
employed: and I am delivered besides, from the fear of their being
found, if I should be searched, or discovered. I have been permitted to
take an airing, five or six miles, with Mrs. Jewkes: But, though I know
not the reason, she watches me more closely than ever; so that we have
discontinued, by consent, for these three days, the sunflower
correspondence.
The poor cook-maid has had a bad mischance; for she has been hurt much
by a bull in the pasture, by the side of the garden, not far from the
back-door. Now this pasture I am to cross, which is about half a mile,
and then is a common, and near that a private horse-road, where I hope
to find an opportunity for escaping, as soon as Mr. Williams can get me
a horse, and has made all ready for me: for he has got me the key,
which he put under the mould, just by the door, as he found an
opportunity to hint to me.
He just now has signified, that the gentleman is dead, whose living he
has had hope of; and he came pretendedly to tell Mrs. Jewkes of it; and
so could speak this to her before me. She wished him joy. See what the
world is! One man’s death is another man’s joy. Thus we thrust out one
another!—My hard case makes me serious. He found means to slide a
letter into my hands, and is gone away: He looked at me with such
respect and solemness at parting, that Mrs. Jewkes said, Why, madam, I
believe our young parson is half in love with you.—Ah! Mrs. Jewkes,
said I, he knows better. Said she, (I believe to sound me,) Why, I
can’t see you can either of you do better; and I have lately been so
touched for you, seeing how heavily you apprehend dishonour from my
master, that I think it is pity you should not have Mr. Williams.
I knew this must be a fetch of hers; because, instead of being troubled
for me, as she pretended, she watched me closer, and him too: and so I
said, There is not the man living that I desire to marry. If I can but
keep myself honest, it is all my desire: And to be a comfort and
assistance to my poor parents, if it should be my happy lot to be so,
is the very top of my ambition. Well, but, said she, I have been
thinking very seriously, that Mr. Williams would make you a good
husband; and as he will owe all his fortune to my master, he will be
very glad, to be sure, to be obliged to him for a wife of his choosing:
especially, said she, such a pretty one, and one so ingenious, and
genteelly educated.
This gave me a doubt, whether she knew of my master’s intimation of
that sort formerly; and I asked her, if she had reason to surmise that
that was in view? No, she said; it was only her own thought; but it was
very likely that my master had either that in view, or something better
for me. But, if I approved of it, she would propose such a thing to her
master directly; and gave a detestable hint, that I might take
resolutions upon it, of bringing such an affair to effect. I told her I
abhorred her vile insinuation; and as to Mr. Williams, I thought him a
civil good sort of man; but, as on one side, he was above me; so, on
the other, I said of all things I did not love a parson. So, finding
she could make nothing of me, she quitted the subject. I will open his
letter by and by, and give you the contents of it; for she is up and
down so much, that I am afraid of her surprising me.
Well, I see Providence has not abandoned me: I shall be under no
necessity to make advances to Mr. Williams, if I was (as I am sure I am
not) disposed to it. This is his letter:
‘I know not how to express myself, lest I should appear to you to have
a selfish view in the service I would do you. But I really know but one
effectual and honourable way to disengage yourself from the dangerous
situation you are in. It is that of marriage with some person that you