Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
with the glass in it, and spilt some of the wine. So Mrs. Jewkes poured
it for me, and I carried it as well as I could; and made a low
courtesy. He took it, and said, Stand behind me, out of my sight!
Why, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you tell me she remains very sullen still,
and eats nothing. No, said she, not so much as will keep life and soul
together.—And is always crying, you say, too? Yes, sir, answered she, I
think she is, for one thing or another. Ay, said he, your young wenches
will feed upon their tears; and their obstinacy will serve them for
meat and drink. I think I never saw her look better though, in my
life!—But, I suppose, she lives upon love. This sweet Mr. Williams, and
her little villanous plots together, have kept her alive and well, to
be sure: For mischief, love, and contradiction, are the natural
aliments of a woman.
Poor I was forced to hear all this, and be silent; and indeed my heart
was too full to speak.
And so you say, said he, that she had another project, but yesterday,
to get away? She denies it herself, said she; but it had all the
appearance of one. I’m sure she made me in a fearful pucker about it:
And I am glad your honour is come, with all my heart; and I hope,
whatever be your honour’s intention concerning her, you will not be
long about it; for you’ll find her as slippery as an eel, I’ll assure
you.
Sir, said I, and clasped his knees with my arms, not knowing what I
did, and falling on my knees, Have mercy on me, and hear me, concerning
that wicked woman’s usage of me—
He cruelly interrupted me, and said, I am satisfied she has done her
duty: it signifies nothing what you say against Mrs. Jewkes. That you
are here, little hypocrite as you are, pleading your cause before me,
is owing to her care of you; else you had been with the parson.—Wicked
girl! said he, to tempt a man to undo himself, as you have done him, at
a time I was on the point of making him happy for his life!
I arose; but said with a deep sigh, I have done, sir!—I have done!—I
have a strange tribunal to plead before. The poor sheep in the fable
had such an one; when it was tried before the vulture, on the
accusation of the wolf!
So, Mrs. Jewkes, said he, you are the wolf, I the vulture, and this the
poor innocent lamb on her trial before us.—Oh! you don’t know how well
this innocent is read in reflection. She has wit at will, when she has
a mind to display her own romantic innocence, at the price of other
people’s characters.
Well, said the aggravated creature, this is nothing to what she has
called me: I have been a Jezebel, a London prostitute, and what
not?—But I am contented with her ill names, now I see it is her
fashion, and she can call your honour a vulture.
Said I, I had no thought of comparing my master—and was going to say
on: but he said, Don’t prate, girl!—No, said she, it don’t become you,
I am sure.
Well, said I, since I must not speak, I will hold my peace; but there
is a righteous Judge, who knows the secrets of all hearts; and to him I
appeal.
See there! said he: now this meek, good creature is praying for fire
from heaven upon us! O she can curse most heartily, in the spirit of
Christian meekness, I’ll assure you!—Come, saucy-face, give me another
glass of wine.
So I did, as well as I could; but wept so, that he said, I suppose I
shall have some of your tears in my wine!
When he had supped, he stood up, and said, O how happy for you it is,
that you can, at will, thus make your speaking eyes overflow in this
manner, without losing any of their brilliancy! You have been told, I
suppose, that you are most beautiful in your tears!—Did you ever, said
he to her, (who all this while was standing in one corner of the
parlour,) see a more charming creature than this? Is it to be wondered
at, that I demean myself thus to take notice of her?—See, said he, and
took the glass with one hand, and turned me round with the other, what
a shape! what a neck! what a hand! and what a bloom on that lovely
face!—But who can describe the tricks and artifices, that lie lurking
in her little, plotting, guileful heart! ’Tis no wonder the poor parson
was infatuated with her.—I blame him less than I do her; for who could
expect such artifice in so young a sorceress?
I went to the farther part of the room, and held my face against the
wainscot; and in spite of all I could do to refrain crying, sobbed as
if my heart would break. He said, I am surprised, Mrs. Jewkes, at the
mistake of the letters you tell me of! But, you see, I am not afraid
any body should read what I write. I don’t carry on private
correspondences, and reveal every secret that comes to my knowledge,
and then corrupt people to carry my letters against their duty, and all
good conscience.
Come hither, hussy! said he: You and I have a dreadful reckoning to
make. Why don’t you come, when I bid you?—Fie upon it, Mrs. Pamela,
said she. What! not stir, when his honour commands you to come to
him!—Who knows but his goodness will forgive you?
He came to me, (for I had no power to stir,) and put his arms about my
neck, and would kiss me; and said, Well, Mrs. Jewkes, if it were not
for the thought of this cursed parson, I believe in my heart, so great
is my weakness, that I could not forgive this intriguing little slut,
and take her to my bosom.
O, said the sycophant, you are very good, sir, very forgiving,
indeed!—But come, added the profligate wretch, I hope you will be so
good, as to take her to your bosom; and that, by to-morrow morning,
you’ll bring her to a better sense of her duty!
Could any thing in womanhood be so vile? I had no patience: but yet
grief and indignation choaked up the passage of my words; and I could
only stammer out a passionate exclamation to Heaven, to protect my
innocence. But the word was the subject of their ridicule. Was ever
poor creature worse beset!
He said, as if he had been considering whether he could forgive me or
not, No, I cannot yet forgive her neither.—She has given me great
disturbance, has brought great discredit upon me, both abroad and at
home: has corrupted all my servants at the other house; has despised my
honourable views and intentions to her, and sought to run away with
this ungrateful parson.—And surely I ought not to forgive all
this!—Yet, with all this wretched grimace, he kissed me again, and
would have put his hand into my bosom; but I struggled, and said, I
would die before I would be used thus.—Consider, Pamela, said he, in a
threatening tone, consider where you are! and don’t play the fool: If
you do, a more dreadful fate awaits you than you expect. But take her
up stairs, Mrs. Jewkes, and I’ll send a few lines to her to consider
of; and let me have your answer, Pamela, in the morning. ‘Till then you
have to resolve: and after that your doom is fixed.—So I went up
stairs, and gave myself up to grief, and expectation of what he would
send: but yet I was glad of this night’s reprieve!
He sent me, however, nothing at all. And about twelve o’clock, Mrs.
Jewkes and Nan came up, as the night before, to be my bed-fellows: and
I would go to bed with some of my clothes on: which they muttered at
sadly; and Mrs. Jewkes railed at me particularly. Indeed I would have
sat up all night, for fear, if she would have let me. For I had but
very little rest that night, apprehending this woman would let my
master in. She did nothing but praise him, and blame me: but I answered
her as little as I could.
He has Sir Simon Tell-tale, alias Darnford, to dine with him to-day,
whose family sent to welcome him into the country; and it seems the old
knight wants to see me; so I suppose I shall be sent for, as Samson
was, to make sport for him.—Here I am, and must bear it all!
Twelve o’clock, Saturday noon.
Just now he has sent me up, by Mrs. Jewkes, the following proposals. So
here are the honourable intentions all at once laid open. They are, my
dear parents, to make me a vile kept mistress: which, I hope, I shall
always detest the thoughts of. But you’ll see how they are accommodated
to what I should have most desired, could I have honestly promoted it,
your welfare and happiness. I have answered them, as I am sure you’ll
approve; and I am prepared for the worst: For though I fear there will
be nothing omitted to ruin me, and though my poor strength will not be
able to defend me, yet I will be innocent of crime in my intention, and
in the sight of God; and to him leave the avenging of all my wrongs,
time and manner. I shall write to you my answer against his articles;
and hope the best, though I fear the worst. But if I should come home
to you ruined and undone, and may not be able to look you in the face;
yet pity and inspirit the poor Pamela, to make her little remnant of
life easy; for long I shall not survive my disgrace: and you may be
assured it shall not be my fault, if it be my misfortune.
‘To MRS. PAMELA ANDREWS.
‘The following ARTICLES are proposed to your serious consideration; and
let me have an answer, in writing, to them, that I may take my
resolutions accordingly. Only remember, that I will not be trifled
with; and what you give for answer will absolutely decide your fate,
without expostulation, or farther trouble.
This is my ANSWER.
Forgive, sir, the spirit your poor servant is about to show in her
answer to your ARTICLES. Not to be warm, and in earnest, on such an
occasion as the present, would shew a degree of guilt, that, I hope, my
soul abhors. I will not trifle with you, nor act like a person doubtful
of her own mind; for it wants not one moment’s consideration with me;
and I therefore return the ANSWER following, let what will be the
consequence.
‘I. If you can convince me that the hated parson has had no
encouragement from you in his addresses; and that you have no
inclination for him in preference to me; then I will offer the
following proposals to you, which I will punctually make good.
I. As to the first article, sir, it may behove me (that I may not
deserve, in your opinion, the opprobrious terms of forward and artful,
and such like) to declare solemnly, that Mr. Williams never had the
least encouragement from me, as to what you hint; and I believe his
principal motive was the apprehended duty of his function, quite
contrary to his apparent interest, to assist a person he thought in
distress. You may, sir, the rather believe me, when I declare, that I
know not the man breathing I would wish to marry; and that the only one
I could honour more than another, is the gentleman, who, of all others,
seeks my everlasting dishonour.
‘II. I will directly make you a present of 500 guineas, for your own
use, which you may dispose of to any purpose you please: and will give
it absolutely into the hands of any person you shall appoint to receive
it; and expect no favour in return, till you are satisfied in the
possession of it.
II. As to your second proposal, let the consequence be what it will, I
reject it with all my soul. Money, sir, is not my chief good: May God
Almighty desert me, whenever it is! and whenever, for the sake of that,
I can give up my title to that blessed hope which will stand me in
stead, at a time when millions of gold will not purchase one happy
moment of reflection on a past misspent life!
‘III. I will likewise directly make over to you a purchase I lately
made in Kent, which brings in 250l. per annum, clear of all deductions.
This shall be made over to you in full property for your life, and for
the lives of any children to perpetuity, that you may happen to have:
And your father shall be immediately put into possession of it in trust
for these purposes: and the management of it will yield a comfortable
subsistence to him, and your mother, for life; and I will make up any