Pamela by Samuel Richardson
‘Were my life in question, instead of my virtue, I would not wish to involve any body in the least difficulty for so worthless a poor creature. But, O sir! my soul is of equal importance with the soul of a princess, though in quality I am but upon a foot with the meanest slave.
‘Save thou, my innocence, good Heaven! and happy shall I be, although an early death were to be my lot; since that would put an end to all my troubles.
‘Forgive my impatience: but my presaging mind bodes horrid mischiefs! Every thing looks dark around me; and this woman’s impenetrable sullenness and silence, (without any apparent reason for either) from a behaviour of a sudden so very contrary, bid me fear the worst. Blame me, sir, if you think me wrong; and let me have your advice what can be done by
Your most afflicted Servant.’
FRIDAY
I have received this half-angry answer from Mr Williams; but what is dearer to me than all other letters in the world could be, was yours, my dear father, inclosed in his.*
’Madam,
‘I think you are too apprehensive by much. I am sorry for your uneasiness. You may depend upon me, and all I can do. But I make no doubt of the journey being really intended to London, nor of John’s contrition and fidelity. I have just received, from my Gainsborough friend, this letter, as I suppose, from your father, in a cover, directed for me, as I had desired. I hope it contains nothing to add to your uneasiness. Pray, dearest Mrs Pamela, lay aside your fears, and wait a few days for the issue of Mrs Jewkes’s letter, and mine of thanks to Mr B. Things, I hope, must be better than what you expect. Providence will not desert such piety and innocence; and be this your comfort and reliance: which is the best advice that can at present be given by
Your most faithful humble Servant.’
The above is Mr Williams’s sharp letter. But, O my dear father, what inexpressible comfort has your letter given me! You ask, What can you do for me? What is it you cannot do for your child! You can give her the advice she has so much wanted, and still wants. and will always want: you can confirm her in the paths of virtue, into which you first conducted her; and you can pray for her, with hearts more pure, than are to be met with in palaces! Oh! how I long to throw myself at the feet of you both, and receive from your lips, the blessings of such good parents! But, alas! how are my prospects again overclouded to what they were when I closed my last parcel! More trials, more dangers, I fear, must your poor Pamela have to struggle with: but through the Divine Goodness, and your prayers, I hope, at last, to get well out of all my difficulties, and the rather, as they proceed not from my own vanity and presumption!
But I will proceed with my hopeless story.
I saw Mr Williams was a little nettled at my impatience; and so I wrote to assure him I would be as easy as I could, and wholly directed by him; especially as my father, whose respects to him I mentioned, had assured me, my master was setting out for London, which he must have some-how from his own family, or he would not have written me word of it.
SATURDAY, SUNDAY
Mr Williams has been here both these days, as usual; but is still very indifferently treated by Mrs Jewkes. To avoid suspicion, I left them together, and went up to my closet, and staid there most of the time he was here. He and she, I found by her, had a quarrel. At going away, he told her, he would very little trouble the house, till he had an answer to his letter, from Mr B. ‘The less, the better,’ she answered. I thought it best to be silent, when she told me this.
I am satisfied there is mischief brewing, and shall begin to hide my papers, and be more and more circumspect.
MONDAY, TUESDAY, the 25th and 26th Days of my heavy Restraint
I have still stranger things to write than I had before. A messenger is returned, and now (O wretched; wretched Pamela! what at last will become of me!) all is out! The messenger brought two letters, one to Mrs Jewkes, and one to me: but, as the greatest wits may be sometimes mistaken, they being folded and sealed alike, that for me, was directed to Mrs Jewkes; and that for her, was directed to me. But the contents of both are equally dreadful and abominable.
She brought me up that directed for me, and said, ‘Here’s a letter for you. I will ask the messenger a few questions, and then I will read that which is brought me with it.’
She went down, and I broke open in my closet that she gave me, and found it directed, To Mrs PAMELA ANDREWS. But when I opened it, it began, Mrs Jewkes. I was quite confounded; but, thought I, this may be a lucky mistake; I may discover something. And so I read on these horrid contents:
‘Mrs JEWKES,
‘What you write has given me no small disturbance. For a girl, distinguished by me, to be so ready to run away with a fellow, and that upon so short an acquaintance, in order to avoid me; and at a time when I had given her the strongest assurances of my honour, is what I cannot bear to think of. Ungrateful creature! But I reserve the fool’s plaything149 for my future vengeance; and I charge you to double your diligence, that she may not escape it.
‘I send this by an honest Swiss, who attended me in my travels; a man I can trust; and let him be your assistant: for the artful creature, by her seeming innocence and simplicity, may have got a party, perhaps, among my few servants with you, as she has here. Even John Arnold, whom I confided in, and favoured more than any other of my fellows, has proved an execrable villain; and shall meet his due reward for it.
‘As to that college novice, Williams, I need not bid you take care he see not this forward creature; for I have ordered Mr Shorter, my attorney, to throw him instantly into gaol,150 for money he has had of me, which I had intended never to carry to account against him.
‘Holy hypocrite! How knew he that I designed dishonour to the painted gewgaw?151 Had he been governed by no worse motives than those of compassion for a young creature whom he had thought innocent and in danger, ought he not, as his function and my favour for him would have warranted, to have expostulated with me? But he was not content to enter into an intrigue with the saucy designer, to supplant me his patron and best friend: he has exposed me by an application in her behalf, to the whole family of Sir Simon Darnford, to receive and protect against me, this plotting little villain of a girl, when he had got her away from my house. Of this Sir Simon has informed me. Disgraceful application! Officious and base intermeddler! It is easy to guess at his vile motives: more impure, more sensual than those of him, whom he wanted to rob of the fair idiot. Yet, ungrateful wretch! to expect preferment from me! Well does he deserve that ruin, that utter ruin, which awaits so black, so odious a treachery!
‘Colbrand, my trusty Swiss, will obey you without reserve, if you cannot confide in my other servants with you.
‘As for the girl’s denying, that she encouraged his declaration, I believe it not ‘Tis certain the speaking picture,152 with all that pretended innocence and bashfulness, would have run away with him. I now hate her perfectly; and though I will do nothing to her myself, yet I can bear, for the sake of my revenge, and my injured honour, and slighted offers, to see any thing, even what she most fears, be done to her; and then she may be turned loose to her evil destiny, and echo to the woods and groves her piteous lamentations for the loss of her fantastic innocence, which the romantic idiot pretends to value herself upon.
‘I shall go to London with my sister Davers; and the moment I can disengage myself, which may be in three weeks from this time, I will be with you, and decide her fate. Mean time, be doubly careful; for this innocent, as I have warned you, is full of contrivances. I am, &c’
I had but just read this dreadful letter through, when Mrs Jewkes came up, in a great fright, guessing at the mistake, and that I had her letter; and she found me with it open in my hand, just ready to faint.
‘What business,’ said she, ‘had you to read my letter?’ and snatched it from me. ‘You see,’ said she, looking upon it, ‘it begins Mrs Jewkes at top: you ought, in manners, to have read no further.’ ‘Add not,’ said I, ‘to my afflictions! I shall soon be out of all your ways!
She went out, and when she had read the letter, came in again: ‘Why this,’ said she, ‘is a sad letter indeed. I am sorry for it: but I feared you would carry your niceties too far.’ ‘Leave me, leave me, Mrs Jewkes,’ said I, ‘for a-while: I cannot talk!’ ‘Poor heart!’ said she; ‘well, I’ll come up again presently, and hope to find you better. But here, take your own letter: I wish you well; but this is a sad mistake! ‘And so she put down by me that which was intended for me. But I had no spirit to read it at that time. O man! man! hardhearted cruel man! what mischiefs art thou not capable of!
I sat ruminating, when I had a little come to myself, upon the contents of this wicked letter; and had no inclination to look into my own. The bad names, fool’s plaything, artful and forward creature, painted gewgaw, villain of a girl, speaking picture, romantic idiot, are hard words for your poor Pamela! and I began to think, whether I was not indeed a very naughty body, and had not done vile things: but when I thought of his having discovered poor John, and of Sir Simon’s mean officiousness, in telling him of Mr Williams, together with what he had resolved against him, in revenge for his goodness to me, I was quite dispirited; and yet still more, about that horrible Colbrand, and what he could see done to me; for then I was ready to gasp for breath, and my heart quite failed me. Then how dreadful are the words, that he will decide my fate in three weeks! Gracious heaven, said I, strike me dead, before that time, with a thunderbolt, or provide some way for my escaping these threatened mischiefs!
At last, I took up the letter directed for Mrs Jewkes, but designed for me; and I found that little better than the other. These are the hard words it contains:
‘Well have you done, perverse, forward, artful, yet foolish Pamela, to convince me, before it was too late, of my weakness in believing you to be a mirror of bashful modesty, and unspotted innocence. Specious hypocrite! Mean-spirited girl! It was degree, not man, that gave you apprehension. You could not repose the least confidence in one whom you had known for years, and who, under my good mother’s misplaced favour for you, in a manner had grown up with you; but you could enter into an intrigue, and even lay plots to run away with a man you never knew, till within these few days past. Mean-spirited, ungrateful, forward, and low girl, as I think you, I must repeatedly call you!
‘What though I had excited your fears, in sending you one way, when you hoped to go another; yet, had I not engaged, in order to convince you of my resolution to do honourably by you, not to come near you without your own consent? Yet how have you requited me? The very first fellow that came in your way, you have practised upon, corrupted too, and thrown your forward self upon him; after having by your insinuating arts, and bewitching face, induced him to break through all the ties of honour and gratitude to me; and that at a time when the happiness of his future life depended upon my favour.
‘As, therefore, you would place no confidence in me, my honour owes you nothing; and in a little time you shall find how much you have erred in treating, as you have done, a man, who was once
Your affectionate and kind Friend.’
What cruel reproaches! Mean-spirited, and low, and forward: if I am low, I am not mean-spirited I wish I could not say, It is he that, high as he thinks himself, is mean-spirited. It is degree, not man, he says, that gives me apprehension. What can he mean by it? A mirror of bashful modesty and unspotted innocence, he thought me! What business has he to think of me at all? And so, because he thought me modest and innocent, he must seek to make me impudent and guilty.
His dear mother, my good lady, did not, and would not to this day, have thought her favours misplaced, I dare say: but I know what she would have thought of him, for such vile doings to her poor servant-girl.
In a manner grown up with me! What an abasement does wickedness make pride submit to! Brought up with him! How can he say so! Was he not abroad for some time? And when, of late, at home, how has he eyed me with scorn sometimes! How has the mean girl been ready to tremble under his disdainful eye! How have I fought for excuses to get from my lady, when he came to visit her in her apartment, though bid to stay, perhaps! Brought up with him! I say – Brought up with him! He may as well say, The poor frighted pigeon brought up with the hawk! He has an eye like a hawk’s, I am sure! and a heart, I verily think, as cruel! Mean-spirited! he says not true when he calls me mean-spirited. Forward he shall not find me. Ungrateful! I should abhor myself if I were capable of ingratitude. Low! what a poor reproach is that from a gentleman! But if I am low, I am honest; so am in this better than those who are high and dishonest. What though he had excited my fears! What business had he to excite my fears? What business had he to send me one way, to his wicked house, and vile woman, when I hoped to go another, to you, my dear, worthy parents! The very first fellow! I scorn his reflection! He is mistaken in your Pamela. You know what I writ about Mr Williams; and if you, and my mother, and my own heart acquit me, what care I? – I had almost said. But these are after reflections. At the reading of his letter, I was quite broken-hearted.153
Alas for me! said I to myself, what a fate is mine, to be thus thought artful, and forward, and ungrateful! when all I intended was to preserve my innocence; and when all the poor little shifts, which his superior wicked wit and cunning have rendered ineffectual, were forced upon me in my own necessary defence!
When Mrs Jewkes came up to me again, she found me bathed in tears. She seemed, as I thought, to be moved to some compassion; and finding myself now entirely in her power, and that it is not for me to provoke her, I said, ‘It is now, I see, in vain for me to contend against my evil destiny, and the superior arts of my barbarous master. I will resign myself to Providence; that, I hope, will still protect me. But you see how this poor Mr Williams is drawn in and undone; I am sorry I am made the cause of his ruin: poor, poor man! to be thus involved, and for my sake too! But, if you’ll believe me,’ said I, ‘I gave no encouragement to what he proposed, as to marriage; nor would he have proposed it, I believe, but as the only honourable way he thought left to save me: and his principal motive to it all, was virtue and compassion to one in distress. What other view could he have? You know I am poor and friendless. All I beg of you is, to let the worthy gentleman have notice of my master’s resentment; and let him fly the country, and not be thrown into gaol: this will answer my master’s end as well; for it will as effectually hinder him from assisting me, as if he were in a prison.’
‘Ask me,’ said she, ‘to do any thing that is in my power, consistent with my duty and trust, and I will do it; for I am sorry for you both. But, to be sure, I shall keep no correspondence with him, nor allow you to do it.’
I offered to talk of a duty superior to that she mentioned, which would oblige her to help distressed innocence, and not permit her to go the lengths enjoined by lawless tyranny; but she plainly bid me be silent on that head; for it was in vain to attempt to persuade her to betray her trust. ‘All I have to advise you,’ said she, ‘is to be easy; lay aside all your contrivances and arts to get away, and make me your friend, by giving me no reason to suspect you; for I glory in my fidelity to my master: and you have both practised some strange sly arts, to make such a progress as he has owned there was between you, so seldom as, I thought, you saw one another; and I must be more circumspect than I have been.’
This doubled my concern; for I now apprehended I should be much closer watched than before.
‘Well,’ said I, ‘since I have, by this strange accident, made such a discovery, let me read over again that horrid letter of yours, that I may get it by heart, and with it feed my distress, and make calamity familiar to me.’ ‘Then,’ said she, ‘let me read yours again.’ I gave her mine, and she lent me hers; and so I took a copy of it, with her leave; because, as I said, I would by it prepare myself for the worst. And when I had done, I pinned it on the head of the couch. ‘This,’ said I, ‘is the use I shall make of this w
She said, She would go down to order supper, and insisted upon my company, when it was ready: I would have excused myself; but she putting on a commanding air, I was forced to submit. The moment I went down, she took my hand, and presented me to the most hideous monster I ever saw in my life. ‘Here, Monsieur Colbrand,’ said she, ‘here is your pretty ward, and mine; let us try to make her time with us easy.’ He bowed, and put on his foreign grimaces, and seemed to bless himself! and, in broken English, told me, I was happy in de affections of de vinest gentleman in de varld! I was quite terrified. I will describe him to you, my dear father and mother, if now you will ever see this; and you shall judge if I had not reason, especially as I knew not that he was to be at supper.
He is a giant of a man, for stature; taller, by a good deal, than Harry Mawlidge, in your neighbourhood, and large-boned, and scraggy; and has a hand – I never saw such a one in my life. He has great staring eyes, like the bull’s that frightened me so; vast jawbones sticking out; eye-brows hanging over his eyes; two great scars upon his forehead, and one on his left cheek; huge whiskers and a monstrous wide mouth; blubber154 lips, long yellow teeth, which his lips hardly cover, even when he is silent; so that he has always a hideous grin about his mouth. He wears his own frightful long hair, tied up in a great black bag;155 a black crape neckcloth, about a long ugly neck; and he has something on his throat, that sticks out, as I may say, like a wen.156 As to the rest, he was dressed well enough, and had a sword on, with a dirty red knot157 to it; leather garters, buckled below his knees; and a foot – near as long as my arm, I verily think.