Pamela, or Virtue Rewarded
then, and said wrathfully, Begone, rageful woman! begone this moment
from my presence! Leave my house this instant!—I renounce you, and all
relation to you! and never more let me see your face, or call me
brother! And took her by the hand to lead her out. She laid hold of the
curtains of the window, and said, I will not go! You shall not force me
from you thus ignominiously in the wretch’s hearing, and suffer her to
triumph over me in your barbarous treatment of me.
Not considering any thing, I ran out of the closet, and threw myself at
my dear master’s feet, as he held her hand, in order to lead her out;
and I said, Dearest sir, let me beg, that no act of unkindness, for my
sake, pass between so worthy and so near relations. Dear, dear madam,
said I, and clasped her knees, pardon and excuse the unhappy cause of
all this evil; on my knees I beg your ladyship to receive me to your
grace and favour, and you shall find me incapable of any triumph but in
your ladyship’s goodness to me.
Creature, said she, art thou to beg an excuse for me?—Art thou to
implore my forgiveness? Is it to thee I am to owe the favour, that I am
not cast headlong from my brother’s presence? Begone to thy corner,
wench! begone, I say, lest thy paramour kill me for trampling thee
under my foot!
Rise, my dear Pamela, said my master; rise, dear life of my life; and
expose not so much worthiness to the ungrateful scorn of so violent a
spirit. And so he led me to my closet again, and there I sat and wept.
Her woman came up, just as he had led me to my closet, and was
returning to her lady; and she very humbly said, Excuse my intrusion,
good sir!—I hope I may come to my lady. Yes, Mrs. Worden, said he, you
may come in; and pray take your lady down stairs with you, for fear I
should too much forget what belongs either to my sister or myself!
I began to think (seeing her ladyship so outrageous with her brother)
what a happy escape I had had the day before, though hardly enough used
in conscience too, as I thought.
Her woman begged her ladyship to walk down; and she said, Beck, seest
thou that bed? That was the bed that I was born in; and yet that was
the bed thou sawest, as well as I, the wicked Pamela in, this morning,
and this brother of mine just risen from her!
True, said he; you both saw it, and it is my pride that you could see
it. ’Tis my bridal bed; and ’tis abominable that the happiness I knew
before you came hither, should be so barbarously interrupted.
Swear to me but, thou bold wretch! said she, swear to me, that Pamela
Andrews is really and truly thy lawful wife, without sham, without
deceit, without double-meaning; and I know what I have to say!
I’ll humour you for once, said he; and then swore a solemn oath that I
was. And, said he, did I not tell you so at first?
I cannot yet believe you, said she; because, in this particular, I had
rather have called you knave than fool.—Provoke me not too much, said
he; for, if I should as much forget myself as you have done, you’d have
no more of a brother in me, than I have a sister in you.
Who married you? said she: tell me that! Was it not a broken attorney
in a parson’s habit? Tell me truly, in the wench’s hearing. When she’s
undeceived, she’ll know how to behave herself better! Thank God,
thought I, it is not so.
No, said he; and I’ll tell you, that I bless God, I abhorred that
project, before it was brought to bear: and Mr. Williams married
us.—Nay then, said she—but answer me another question or two, I beseech
you: Who gave her away? Parson Peters, said he. Where was the ceremony
performed? In my little chapel, which you may see, as it was put in
order on purpose.
Now, said she, I begin to fear there is something in it! But who was
present? said she. Methinks, replied he, I look like a fine puppy, to
suffer myself to be thus interrogated by an insolent sister: but, if
you must know, Mrs. Jewkes was present. O the procuress! said she: But
nobody else? Yes, said he, all my heart and soul!
Wretch! said she; and what would thy father and mother have said, had
they lived to this day? Their consents, replied he, I should have
thought it my duty to ask; but not yours, madam.
Suppose, said she, I had married my father’s groom! what would you have
said to that?—I could not have behaved worse, replied he, than you have
done. And would you not have thought, said she, I had deserved it.
Said he, Does your pride let you see no difference in the case you put?
None at all, said she. Where can the difference be between a beggar’s
son married by a lady, or a beggar’s daughter made a gentleman’s wife?
Then I’ll tell you, replied he; the difference is, a man ennobles the
woman he takes, be she who she will; and adopts her into his own rank,
be it what it will: but a woman, though ever so nobly born, debases
herself by a mean marriage, and descends from her own rank to his she
stoops to.
When the royal family of Stuart allied itself into the low family of
Hyde, (comparatively low, I mean,) did any body scruple to call the
lady, Royal Highness, and Duchess of York? And did any body think her
daughters, the late Queen Mary and Queen Anne, less royal for that?
When the broken-fortuned peer goes into the city to marry a rich
tradesman’s daughter, be he duke or earl, does not his consort
immediately become ennobled by his choice? and who scruples to call her
lady, duchess, or countess?
But when a duchess or countess dowager descends to mingle with a person
of obscure birth, does she not then degrade herself? and is she not
effectually degraded? And will any duchess or countess rank with her?
Now, Lady Davers, do you not see a difference between my marrying my
dear mother’s beloved and deserving waiting-maid, with a million of
excellencies about her, and such graces of mind and person as would
adorn any distinction; and your marrying a sordid groom, whose constant
train of education, conversation, and opportunities, could possibly
give him no other merit, than that which must proceed from the vilest,
lowest taste, in his sordid dignifier?
O the wretch! said she, how he finds excuses to palliate his meanness!
Again, said he, let me observe to you, Lady Davers, When a duke marries
a private person, is he not still her head, by virtue of being her
husband? But, when a lady descends to marry a groom, is not the groom
her head, being her husband? And does not the difference strike you?
For what lady of quality ought to respect another, who has made so
sordid a choice, and set a groom above her? For, would not that be to
put that groom upon a par with themselves?—Call this palliation, or
what you will; but if you see not the difference, you are blind; and a
very unfit judge for yourself, much more unfit to be a censurer of me.
I’d have you, said she, publish your fine reasons to the world, and
they will be sweet encouragements to all the young gentlemen who read
them to cast themselves away on the servant-wenches in their families.
Not at all, Lady Davers, replied he: For, if any young gentleman stays
till he finds such a person as my Pamela, so enriched with the beauties
of person and mind, so well accomplished, and so fitted to adorn the
degree she is raised to, he will stand as easily acquitted, as I shall
be to all the world that sees her, except there be many more Lady
Davers than I apprehend can possibly be met with.
And so, returned she, you say you are actually and really married,
honestly, or rather foolishly married, to this slut?
I am, indeed, says he, if you presume to call her so! And why should I
not, if I please? Who is there ought to contradict me? Whom have I hurt
by it?—Have I not an estate, free and independent?—Am I likely to be
beholden to you, or any of my relations? And why, when I have a
sufficiency in my own single hands, should I scruple to make a woman
equally happy, who has all I want? For beauty, virtue, prudence, and
generosity too, I will tell you, she has more than any lady I ever saw.
Yes, Lady Davers, she has all these naturally; they are born with her;
and a few years’ education, with her genius, has done more for her,
than a whole life has done for others.
No more, no more, I beseech you, said she; thou surfeitest me, honest
man! with thy weak folly. Thou art worse than an idolater; thou hast
made a graven image, and thou fallest down and worshippest the works of
thy own hands; and, Jeroboam-like, wouldst have every body else bow
down before thy calf!
Well said, Lady Davers! Whenever your passion suffers you to descend to
witticism; ’tis almost over with you. But let me tell you, though I
myself worship this sweet creature, that you call such names, I want
nobody else to do it; and should be glad you had not intruded upon me,
to interrupt me in the course of our mutual happiness.
Well said, well said, my kind, my well-mannered brother! said she. I
shall, after this, very little interrupt your mutual happiness, I’ll
assure you. I thought you a gentleman once, and prided myself in my
brother: But I’ll say now with the burial service, Ashes to ashes, and
dirt to dirt!
Ay, said he, Lady Davers, and there we must all end at last; you with
all your pride, and I with my plentiful fortune, must come to it; and
then where will be your distinction? Let me tell you, except you and I
both mend our manners, though you have been no duellist, no libertine,
as you call me, this amiable girl, whom your vanity and folly so much
despise, will out-soar us both, infinitely out-soar us; and he who
judges best, will give the preference where due, without regard to
birth or fortune.
Egregious preacher! said she: What, my brother already turned
Puritan!—See what marriage and repentance may bring a man to! I
heartily congratulate this change!—Well, said she, (and came towards
me, and I trembled to see her coming; but her brother followed to
observe her, and I stood up at her approach, and she said,) give me thy
hand, Mrs. Pamela, Mrs. Andrews, Mrs. what shall I call thee?—Thou hast
done wonders in a little time; thou hast not only made a rake a husband
but thou hast made a rake a preacher! But take care, added she, after
all, in ironical anger, and tapped me on the neck, take care that thy
vanity begins not where his ends; and that thou callest not thyself my
sister.
She shall, I hope, Lady Davers, said he, when she can make as great a
convert of you from pride, as she has of me, from libertinism.
Mrs. Jewkes just then came up, and said dinner was ready. Come, my
Pamela, said my dear master; you desired to be excused from
breakfasting with us; but I hope you’ll give Lady Davers and me your
company to dinner.
How dare you insult me thus? said my lady.—How dare you, said he,
insult me by your conduct in my own house, after I have told you I am
married? How dare you think of staying here one moment, and refuse my
wife the honours that belong to her as such?
Merciful God! said she, give me patience! and held her hand to her
forehead.
Pray, sir, dear sir, said I, excuse me, don’t vex my lady:—Be silent,
my dear love, said he; you see already what you have got by your sweet
condescension. You have thrown yourself at her feet, and, insolent as
she is, she has threatened to trample upon you. She’ll ask you,
presently, if she is to owe her excuse to your interposition? and yet
nothing else can make her forgiven.
Poor lady, she could not bear this; and, as if she was discomposed, she
ran to her poor grieved woman, and took hold of her hand, and said,
Lead me down, lead me down, Beck! Let us instantly quit this house,
this cursed house, that once I took pleasure in! Order the fellows to
get ready, and I will never see it, nor its owner, more. And away she
went down stairs, in a great hurry. And the servants were ordered to