Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
said I, so we shall; but won’t she get cold?
Said she, I hope you have no writing to-night. No, replied I, I will go
to bed with you, Mrs. Jewkes. Said she, I wonder what you can find to
write about so much! and am sure you have better conveniences of that
kind, and more paper than I am aware of; and I had intended to rummage
you, if my master had not come down; for I spied a broken tea-cup with
ink, which gave me suspicion: but as he is come, let him look after
you, if he will; and if you deceive him, it will be his own fault.
All this time we were undressing ourselves: And I fetched a deep sigh!
What do you sigh for? said she. I am thinking, Mrs. Jewkes, answered I,
what a sad life I live, and how hard is my lot. I am sure, the thief
that has robbed is much better off than I, ’bating the guilt; and I
should, I think, take it for a mercy, to be hanged out of the way,
rather than live in these cruel apprehensions. So, being not sleepy,
and in a prattling vein, I began to give a little history of myself, as
I did, once before, to Mrs. Jervis; in this manner:
Here, said I, were my poor honest parents; they took care to instill
good principles into my mind, till I was almost twelve years of age;
and taught me to prefer goodness and poverty to the highest condition
of life; and they confirmed their lessons by their own practice; for
they were, of late years, remarkably poor, and always as remarkably
honest, even to a proverb: for, As honest as goodman ANDREWS, was a
byeword.
Well then, said I, comes my late dear good lady, and takes a fancy to
me, and said, she would be the making of me, if I was a good girl; and
she put me to sing, to dance, to play on the spinnet, in order to
divert her melancholy hours; and also taught me all manner of fine
needle-work; but still this was her lesson, My good Pamela, be
virtuous, and keep the men at a distance. Well, so I was, I hope, and
so I did; and yet, though I say it, they all loved me and respected me;
and would do any thing for me, as if I was a gentlewoman.
But, then, what comes next?—Why, it pleased God to take my good lady:
and then comes my master: And what says he?—Why, in effect, it is, Be
not virtuous, Pamela.
So here I have lived about sixteen years in virtue and reputation; and
all at once, when I come to know what is good, and what is evil, I must
renounce all the good, all the whole sixteen years’ innocence, which,
next to God’s grace, I owed chiefly to my parents, and my lady’s good
lessons and examples, and choose the evil; and so, in a moment’s time,
become the vilest of creatures! And all this, for what, I pray? Why,
truly, for a pair of diamond ear-rings, a necklace, and a diamond ring
for my finger; which would not become me: For a few paltry fine
clothes, which, when I wore them, would make but my former poverty more
ridiculous to every body that saw me; especially when they knew the
base terms I wore them upon. But, indeed, I was to have a great parcel
of guineas beside; I forget how many; for, had there been ten times
more, they would have been not so much to me, as the honest six guineas
you tricked me out of, Mrs. Jewkes.
Well, forsooth! but then I was to have I know not how many pounds a
year for my life; and my poor father (there was the jest of it!) was to
be the manager for the abandoned prostitute his daughter: And then,
(there was the jest again!) my kind, forgiving, virtuous master, would
pardon me all my misdeeds!
Yes, thank him for nothing, truly. And what, pray, are all these
violent misdeeds?—Why, they are for daring to adhere to the good
lessons that were taught me; and not learning a new one, that would
have reversed all my former: 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 Parson 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 had the fear of God before his
eyes, and was willing to forego all his expectations of interest, and
assist an oppressed poor creature.
But, to be sure, I must be forward, bold, saucy, and what not! to dare
to run away from certain ruin, and to strive to escape from an unjust
confinement; and I must be married to the parson, nothing so sure!
He would have had but a poor catch of me, had I consented: But he, and
you too, know I did not want to marry any body. I only wanted to go to
my poor parents, and to have my own liberty, and not to be confined by
such an unlawful restraint; and which would not have been inflicted
upon me, but only that I am a poor, destitute, young body, and have no
friend that is able to right me.
So, Mrs. Jewkes, said I, here is my history in brief. And I am a very
unhappy young creature, to be sure!—And why am I so?—Why, because my
master sees something in my person that takes his present fancy; and
because I would not be undone.—Why, therefore to choose, I must, and I
shall be undone!—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 may come to bed well enough, as long as
there is a candle in the chimney.
So I looked into the closet, and kneeled down in my own, as I used to
do, to say my prayers, and this with my underclothes in my hand, all
undressed; and passed by the poor sleeping wench, as I thought, in my
return. But, oh! little did I think it was my wicked, wicked master, in
a gown and petticoat of hers, and her apron over his face and
shoulders. What meanness will not Lucifer make his votaries stoop to,
to gain their abominable ends!
Mrs. Jewkes, by this time, was got to bed, on the farther side, as she
used to be; and, to make room for the maid, when she should awake, I
got into bed, and lay close to her. And I said, Where are the keys?
though, said I, 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. So I did, 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, I said, There’s poor Nan awake; I
hear her stir. Let us go to sleep, said 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-ache finely to-morrow for this! Be silent, said
she, and go to sleep; you keep me awake; and I never found you in so
talkative a humour in my life. Don’t chide me, said I; I will but say
one thing more: Do you think Nan could hear me talk of my master’s
offers? No, no, said she; she was dead asleep. I’m 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. Said she, I think they
were fine articles, 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, villanous designer! what a plot, what an unexpected plot
was this!) seemed to be awaking; and Mrs. Jewkes, abhorrent 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, where the curtain hid her, began to undress. Said I, Poor Mrs.
Anne, I warrant your head aches most sadly! How do you do?
—She answered not a word. Said the superlatively wicked woman, You know
I have ordered her not to answer you. And this plot, to be sure, was
laid when she gave her these orders the night before.
I heard her, as I thought, breathe all quick and short: Indeed, said I,
Mrs. Jewkes, the poor maid is not well. What ails you, Mrs. Anne? And
still no answer was made.
But, I tremble to relate it! the pretended she came into bed, but
trembled 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, and the
vile procuress held my right; and then he clasped me round the waist!
Said I, is the wench mad? 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 dreadful time of reckoning come, that I have threatened—I screamed
out in such a manner, as never anybody heard the like. 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! O God! my God! this time! this one time! deliver me
from this distress! or strike me dead this moment! And then I screamed
again and again.
Says he, One word with you, Pamela; one word hear me but; I must say
one word to you, it is this: You see now 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.
O sir, said I, leave me, leave me but, and I will do any thing I ought
to do.—Swear then to me, said he, that you will accept my proposals!
With struggling, fright, terror, I fainted away quite, and did not come
to myself soon, so that they both, from the cold sweats that 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 with his, and in his
gown and slippers.
Your poor Pamela cannot answer for the liberties taken with her in her
deplorable state of death. And when I saw them there, I sat up in my
bed, without any regard to what appearance I made, and nothing about my
neck; 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 have I
suffered in this distress? And I talked quite wild, and knew not what:
for, to be sure, 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 should 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