Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, the 32d, 33d, and 34th days of my
imprisonment. Nothing offers these days but squabblings between Mrs. Jewkes and me.
She grows worse and worse to me. I vexed her yesterday, because
she talked nastily; and told her she talked more like a vile London
prostitute, than a gentleman's housekeeper; and she thinks she cannot
use me bad enough for it. Bless me! she curses and storms at me like a
trooper, and can hardly keep her hands off me. You may believe she
must talk sadly, to make me say such harsh words: indeed it cannot be
repeated; as she is a disgrace to her sex. And then she ridicules me,
and laughs at my notions of honesty; and tells me, impudent creature
as she is! what a fine bed-fellow I shall make for my master (and
such-like), with such whimsical notions about me!--Do you think this
is to be borne? And yet she talks worse than this, if possible! quite
filthily! O what vile hands am I put into!
Thursday. I have now all the reason that can be, to apprehend my master will be
here soon; for the servants are busy in setting the house to rights; and
a stable and coach-house are cleaning out, that have not been used some
time. I asked Mrs. Jewkes; but she tells me nothing, nor will hardly
answer me when I ask her a question. Sometimes I think she puts on these
strange wicked airs to me, purposely to make me wish for, what I dread
most of all things, my master's coming down. He talk of love!--If he had
any the least notion of regard for me, to be sure he would not give
this naughty body such power over me:--And if he does come, where is
his promise of not seeing me without I consent to it? But, it seems, his
honour owes me nothing! So he tells me in his letter. And why? Because
I am willing to keep mine. But, indeed, he says, he hates me perfectly:
But it is plain he does, or I should not be left to the mercy of this
woman: and, what is worse, to my woful apprehensions.
Friday, the 36th day of my imprisonment. I took the liberty yesterday afternoon, finding the gates open, to walk
out before the house; and, ere I was aware, had got to the bottom of the
long row of elms; and there I sat myself down upon the steps of a sort
of broad stile, which leads into the road, and goes towards the town.
And as I sat musing upon what always busies my mind, I saw a whole
body of folks running towards me from the house, men and women, as in a
fright. At first I wondered what was the matter, till they came nearer;
and I found they were all alarmed, thinking I had attempted to get off.
There was first the horrible Colbrand, running with his long legs, well
nigh two yards at a stride; then there was one of the grooms, poor
Mr. Williams's robber; then I spied Nan, half out of breath, and the
cook-maid after her! and lastly, came waddling, as fast as she could,
Mrs. Jewkes, exclaiming most bitterly, as I found, against me. Colbrand
said, O how have you frighted us all!--And went behind me, lest I should
run away, as I suppose. I sat still, to let them see I had no view to get away; for, besides
the improbability of succeeding, my last sad attempt has cured me of
enterprising again. And when Mrs. Jewkes came within hearing, I found
her terribly incensed, and raving about my contrivances. Why, said I,
should you be so concerned? Here I have sat a few minutes, and had not
the least thought of getting away, or going farther; but to return as
soon as it was duskish. She would not believe me; and the barbarous
creature struck at me with her horrid fist, and, I believe, would have
felled me, had not Colbrand interposed, and said, He saw me sitting
still, looking about me, and not seeming to have the least inclination
to stir. But this would not serve: She ordered the two maids to take
me each by an arm, and lead me back into the house, and up stairs; and
there have I been locked up ever since, without shoes. In vain have I
pleaded, that I had no design, as indeed I had not the least; and last
night I was forced to be between her and Nan; and I find she is resolved
to make a handle of this against me, and in her own behalf.--Indeed,
what with her usage, and my own apprehensions of still worse, I am quite
weary of my life. Just now she has been with me, and given me my shoes, and has laid her
imperious commands upon me, to dress myself in a suit of clothes out
of the portmanteau, which I have not seen lately, against three or four
o'clock; for she says, she is to have a visit from Lady Darnford's two
daughters, who come purposely to see me; and so she gave me the key of
the portmanteau. But I will not obey her; and I told her, I would not
be made a show of, nor see the ladies. She left me, saying, it would be
worse for me, if I did not. But how can that be? Five o'clock is come, And no young ladies!--So that I fancy--But hold! I hear their coach,
I believe. I'll step to the window.--I won't go down to them, I am
resolved-Good sirs! good sirs! What will become of me! Here is my master come
in his fine chariot!--Indeed he is! What shall I do? Where shall I
hide myself?--O! What shall I do? Pray for me! But oh! you'll not see
this!--Now, good God of heaven, preserve me; if it be thy blessed will! Seven o'clock. Though I dread to see him, yet do I wonder I have not. To be sure
something is resolved against me, and he stays to hear all her stories.
I can hardly write; yet, as I can do nothing else, I know not how
to forbear!--Yet I cannot hold my pen--How crooked and trembling the
lines!--I must leave off, till I can get quieter fingers!--Why should
the guiltless tremble so, when the guilty can possess their minds in
peace? Saturday morning. Now let me give you an account of what passed last night: for I had no
power to write, nor yet opportunity till now. This vile woman held my master till half an hour after seven; and he
came hither about five in the afternoon. And then I heard his voice on
the stairs, as he was coming up to me. It was about his supper; for he
said, I shall choose a boiled chicken with butter and parsley.--And up
he came! He put on a stern and majestic air; and he can look very majestic when
he pleases. Well, perverse Pamela, ungrateful runaway, said he, for my
first salutation!--You do well, don't you, to give me all this trouble
and vexation! I could not speak; but throwing myself on the floor, hid
my face, and was ready to die with grief and apprehension.--He said,
Well may you hide your face! well may you be ashamed to see me, vile
forward one, as you are!--I sobbed and wept, but could not speak. And he
let me lie, and went to the door, and called Mrs. Jewkes.--There, said
he, take up that fallen angel!--Once I thought her as innocent as an
angel of light but I have now no patience with her. The little hypocrite
prostrates herself thus, in hopes to move my weakness in her favour, and
that I'll raise her from the floor myself. But I shall not touch her:
No, said he, cruel gentleman as he was! let such fellows as Williams
be taken in by her artful wiles! I know her now, and see she is for any
fool's turn, that will be caught by her. I sighed, as if my heart would break!--And Mrs. Jewkes lifted me up upon
my knees; for I trembled so, I could not stand. Come, said she, Mrs.
Pamela, learn to know your best friend; confess your unworthy behaviour,
and beg his honour's forgiveness of all your faults. I was ready to
faint: And he said, She is mistress of arts, I'll assure you; and will
mimic a fit, ten to one, in a minute. I was struck to the heart at this; but could not speak presently; only
lifted up my eyes to heaven!--And at last made shift to say--God forgive
you, sir!--He seemed in a great passion, and walked up and down the
room, casting sometimes an eye upon me, and seeming as if he would have
spoken, but checked himself--And at last he said, When she has acted
this her first part over, perhaps I will see her again, and she shall
soon know what she has to trust to. And so he went out of the room: And I was quite sick at heart!--Surely,
said I, I am the wickedest creature that ever breathed! Well, said the
impertinent, not so wicked as that neither; but I am glad you begin
to see your faults. Nothing like being humble!--Come, I'll stand your
friend, and plead for you, if you'll promise to be more dutiful for
the future: Come, come, added the wretch, this may be all made up by
to-morrow morning, if you are not a fool.--Begone, hideous woman! said
I, and let not my affliction be added to by thy inexorable cruelty, and
unwomanly wickedness. She gave me a push, and went away in a violent passion: And it seems,
she made a story of this; and said, I had such a spirit, there was no
bearing it. I laid me down on the floor, and had no power to stir, till the clock
struck nine: and then the wicked woman came up again. You must come down
stairs, said she, to my master; that is, if you please, spirit!--Said
I, I believe I cannot stand. Then, said she, I'll send Mons. Colbrand to
carry you down. I got up as well as I could, and trembled all the way down stairs:
And she went before me into the parlour; and a new servant that he had
waiting on him, instead of John, withdrew as soon as I came in: And,
by the way, he had a new coachman too, which looked as if Bedfordshire
Robin was turned away. I thought, said he, when I came down, you should have sat at table
with me, when I had not company; but when I find you cannot forget your
original, but must prefer my menials to me, I call you down to wait on
me while I sup, that I may have some talk with you, and throw away as
little time as possible upon you. Sir, said I, you do me honour to wait upon you:--And I never shall, I
hope, forget my original. But I was forced to stand behind his chair,
that I might hold by it. Fill me, said he, a glass of that Burgundy.
I went to do it, but my hand shook so, that I could not hold the plate
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.