Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
to-morrow morning, that I may just run them over, and see what I put
into your hands against me: and I will then give my papers to you,
without the least alteration, or adding or diminishing: But I should
beg still to be excused, if you please: But if not, spare them to me
but till to-morrow morning: and this, so hardly am I used, shall be
thought a favour, which I shall be very thankful for.’
I guessed it would not be long before I heard from him and he
accordingly sent up Mrs. Jewkes for what I had promised. So I gave her
this note to carry to him. And he sent word, that I must keep my
promise, and he would give me till morning; but that I must bring them
to him, without his asking again.
So I took off my under-coat, and with great trouble of mind, unsewed
them from it. And there is a vast quantity of it. I will just slightly
touch upon the subjects; because I may not, perhaps, get them again for
you to see.
They begin with an account of ‘my attempting to get away out of the
window first, and then throwing my petticoat and handkerchief into the
pond. How sadly I was disappointed, the lock of the back-door being
changed. How, in trying to climb over the door, I tumbled down, and was
piteously bruised; the bricks giving way, and tumbling upon me. How,
finding I could not get off, and dreading the hard usage I should
receive, I was so wicked as to think of throwing myself into the water.
My sad reflections upon this matter. How Mrs. Jewkes used me upon 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. Mrs. Jewkes’s wicked reports, to frighten me, that I was
to be married to the 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 of seeing preparations made for my master’s coming.
Her causeless fears that I was trying to get away again, when I had no
thoughts of it; and my bad usage upon it. My master’s dreadful arrival;
and his hard, very hard treatment of me; and Mrs. Jewkes’s insulting of
me. His jealousy of Mr. Williams and me. How Mrs. Jewkes vilely
instigated him to wickedness.’ And down to here, I put into one parcel,
hoping that would content him. But for fear it should not, I put into
another parcel the following; viz.
‘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 what a year; and 50l.
a year for the life of both you, my dear parents, to be his mistress;
with an insinuation, that, may be, he would marry me at the 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 at last his goodness towards me,
and mercy on me, 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’s to ruin me; being in my
room, disguised in clothes of the maid’s, who lay with me and Mrs.
Jewkes. How narrowly I escaped, (it makes my heart ache to think of it
still!) by falling into fits. Mrs. Jewkes’s detestable part in this sad
affair. How he seemed moved at my danger, and forbore his abominable
designs; and assured me he had offered no indecency. How ill I was for
a day or two after; and how kind he seemed. How he made 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 how he 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 weakness and consideration for him, though he had used me so ill.
How sadly jealous he was of Mr. Williams; and how I, as justly could,
cleared myself as to his doubts on that score. How, just when he had
raised me up to the highest hope of his goodness, he dashed me sadly
again, and went off more coldly. My free reflections upon this trying
occasion.’
This brought down matters from Thursday, the 20th day of my
imprisonment, to Wednesday the 41st, and here I was resolved to end,
let what would come; for only Thursday, Friday, and Saturday, remain to
give an account of; and Thursday he set out to a ball at Stamford; and
Friday was the gipsy story; and this is Saturday, his return from
Stamford. And truly, I shall have but little heart to write, if he is
to see all.
So these two parcels of papers I have got ready for him against
to-morrow morning. To be sure I have always used him very freely in my
writings, and shewed him no mercy; but yet he must thank himself for
it; for I have only writ truth; and I wish he had deserved a better
character at my hands, as well for his own sake as mine.—So, though I
don’t know whether ever you’ll see what I write, I must say, that I
will go to bed, with remembering you in my prayers, as I always do, and
as I know you do me: And so, my dear parents, good night.
Sunday morning.
I remembered what he said, of not being obliged to ask again for my
papers; and what I should be forced to do, and could not help, I
thought I might as well do in such a manner as might shew I would not
disoblige on purpose: though I stomached this matter very heavily too.
I had therefore got in readiness my two parcels; and he, not going to
church in the morning, bid Mrs. Jewkes tell me he was gone into the
garden.
I knew that was for me to go to him; and so I went: for how can I help
being at his beck? which grieves me not a little, though he is my
master, as I may say; for I am so wholly in his power, that it would do
me no good to incense him; and if I refused to obey him in little
matters, my refusal in greater would have the less weight. So I went
down to the garden; but 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 to be courted to come to me?
Sir, said I, and crossed the walk to attend him, I did not know but I
should interrupt you in your meditations this good day.
Was that the case, said he, truly, and from your heart? Why, sir, said
I, I don’t doubt but you have very good thoughts sometimes, though not
towards me. I wish, said he, I could avoid thinking 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 did not
escape. This, added he, gave me a glorious 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. O fie, sir, said I; let me not be
scared, with hearing that you had such a thought in earnest.
Well, said he, I hope you have not now the papers to give me; for I had
rather find them myself, I’ll assure you.
I did not like this way of talk at all; and thinking it best not to
dwell upon it, said, Well, but, sir, you will excuse me, I hope, giving
up my papers.
Don’t trifle with me, said he; Where are they?—I think I was very good
to you last night, to humour you as I did. If you have either added or
diminished, and have not strictly kept your promise, woe be to you!
Indeed, sir, said I, I have neither added nor diminished. But there is
the parcel that goes on with my sad attempt to escape, and the terrible
consequences it had like to have been followed with. And it goes down
to the naughty articles you sent me. And as you know all that has
happened since, I hope these will satisfy you.
He was going to speak; but I said, to drive him from thinking of any
more, And I must beg you, sir, to read the matter favourably, if I have
exceeded in any liberties of my pen.
I think, said he, half-smiling, you may wonder at my patience, that I
can be so easy to read myself abused as I am by such a saucy slut.—Sir,
said I, I have wondered you should be so desirous to see my bold stuff;
and, for that very reason, I have thought it a very good, or a very bad
sign. What, said he, is your good sign?—That it may have an effect upon
your temper, at last, in my favour, when you see me so sincere. Your
bad sign? Why, that if you can read my reflections and observations
upon your treatment of me, with tranquillity, and not be moved, it is a
sign of a very cruel and determined heart. Now, pray, sir, don’t be
angry at my boldness in telling you so freely my thoughts. You may,
perhaps, said he, be least mistaken, when you think of your bad sign.
God forbid! said I.
So I took out my papers; and said, Here, sir, they are. But if you
please 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 broke the seal instantly, and opened them: 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 have
time to read them, if you thought fit. He put them into his pocket, and
said, You have more than these. Yes, sir: but all they contain, you
know as well as I.—But I don’t know, said he, the light you put things
in; and so give them me, if you have not a mind to be searched.
Sir, said I, I can’t stay, if you won’t forbear that ugly word.—Give me
then no reason for it. Where are the other papers? 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 naughty articles, down, through sad attempts,
to Thursday the 42d day of my imprisonment. This is last Thursday, is
it? Yes, sir; but now you will see what I write, I will find some other
way to employ my time: for how can I write with any face, what must be
for your perusal, and not for those I intended to read my melancholy
stories?
Yes, said he, I would have you continue your penmanship by all means;
and, I assure you, in the mind I am in, I will not ask you for any
after these; except any thing very extraordinary occurs. And I have
another thing to tell you, added he, that if you send for those from
your father, and let me read them, I may, very probably, give them all
back again to you. And so I desire you will do it.
This a little encourages me to continue my scribbling; but, for fear of
the worst, I will, when they come to any bulk, contrive some way to
hide them, if I can, that I may protest I have them not about me,
which, before, I could not say of a truth; and that made him so
resolutely bent to try to find them upon me; for which I might have
suffered frightful indecencies.
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. 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