voice in the chamber, saying, Brother, brother, one word with
you—stopping in sight of the closet where I was. He stepped out, and
she went up to the window that looks towards the garden, and said, Mean
fool that I am, to follow you up and down the house in this manner,
though I am shunned and avoided by you! You a brother!—You a barbarian!
Is it possible we could be born of one mother?
Why, said he, do you charge me with a conduct to you, that you bring
upon yourself?—Is it not surprising that you should take the liberty
with me, that the dear mother you have named never gave you an example
for to any of her relations?—Was it not sufficient, that I was
insolently taken to task by you in your letters, but my retirements
must be invaded? My house insulted? And, if I have one person dearer to
me than another, that that person must be singled out for an object of
your violence?
Ay, said she, that one person is the thing!—But though I came with a
resolution to be temperate, and to expostulate with you on your
avoiding me so unkindly, yet cannot I have patience to look upon that
bed in which I was born, and to be made the guilty scene of your
wickedness with such a——
Hush! said he, I charge you! call not the dear girl by any name
unworthy of her. You know not, as I told you, her excellence; and I
desire you’ll not repeat the freedoms you have taken below.
She stamped with her foot, and said, God give me patience! So much
contempt to a sister that loves you so well; and so much tenderness to
a vile——
He put his hand before her mouth: Be silent, said he, once more, I
charge you! You know not the innocence you abuse so freely. I ought
not, neither will I bear it.
She sat down and fanned herself, and burst into tears, and such sobs of
grief, or rather passion, that grieved me to hear; and I sat and
trembled sadly.
He walked about the room in great anger; and at last said, Let me ask
you, Lady Davers, why I am thus insolently to be called to account by
you? Am I not independent? Am I not of age? Am I not at liberty to
please myself?—Would to God, that, instead of a woman, and my sister,
any man breathing had dared, whatever were his relation under that of a
father, to give himself half the airs you have done!—Why did you not
send on this accursed errand your lord, who could write me such a
letter as no gentleman should write, nor any gentleman tamely receive?
He should have seen the difference.
We all know, said she, that, since your Italian duel, you have
commenced a bravo; and all your airs breathe as strongly of the
manslayer as of the libertine. This, said he, I will bear; for I have
no reason to be ashamed of that duel, nor the cause of it; since it was
to save a friend, and because it is levelled at myself only: but suffer
not your tongue to take too great a liberty with my Pamela.
She interrupted him in a violent burst of passion. If I bear this, said
she, I can bear any thing!—O the little strumpet!—He interrupted her
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
make ready for their departure.
I saw my master was troubled, and I went to him, and said, Pray, dear
sir, follow my lady down, and pacify her. ’Tis her love to you.—Poor
woman! said he, I am concerned for her! But I insist upon your coming
down, since things are gone so far. Her pride will get new strength
else, and we shall be all to begin again.
Dearest, dear sir, said I, excuse my going down this once! Indeed, my
dear, I won’t, replied he. What! shall it be said, that my sister shall
scare my wife from my table, and I present?—No, I have borne too much
already; and so have you: And I charge you come down when I send for
you.
He departed, saying these words, and I durst not dispute; for I saw he
was determined. And there is as much majesty as goodness in him, as I
have often had reason to observe; though never more than on the present
occasion with his sister. Her ladyship instantly put on her hood and
gloves, and her woman tied up a handkerchief full of things; for her
principal matters were not unpacked; and her coachman got her chariot
ready, and her footmen their horses; and she appeared resolved to go.
But her kinsman and Mr. Colbrand had taken a turn together, somewhere;
and she would not come in, but sat fretting on a seat in the fore-yard,
with her woman by her; and, at last, said to one of the footmen, Do
you, James, stay to attend my nephew; and we’ll take the road we came.
Mrs. Jewkes went to her ladyship, and said, Your ladyship will be
pleased to stay dinner; ’tis just coming upon table? No, said she, I
have enough of this house; I have indeed. But give my service to your
master, and I wish him happier than he has made me.
He had sent for me down, and I came, though unwillingly, and the cloth
was laid in the parlour I had jumped out of; and there was my master
walking about it. Mrs. Jewkes came in, and asked, if he pleased to have
dinner brought in? for my lady would not come in, but desired her
service, and wished him happier than he had made her. He, seeing her at
the window, when he went to that side of the room, all ready to go,
stept out to her, and said, Lady Davers, if I thought you would not be
hardened, rather than softened, by my civility, I would ask you to walk
in; and, at least, let your kinsman and servants dine before they go.
She wept, and turned her face from him, to hide it. He took her hand,
and said, Come, sister, let me prevail upon you: Walk in. No, said she,
don’t ask me.—I wish I could hate you, as much as you hate me!—You do,
said he, and a great deal more, I’ll assure you; or else you’d not vex
me as you do.—Come, pray walk in. Don’t ask me, said she. Her kinsman
just then returned: Why, madam, said he, your ladyship won’t go till
you have dined, I hope. No, Jackey, said she, I can’t stay; I’m an
intruder here, it seems!—Think, said my master, of the occasion you
gave for that word. Your violent passions are the only intruders! Lay
them aside, and never sister was dearer to a brother. Don’t say such
another word, said she, I beseech you; for I am too easy to forgive you
any thing for one kind word!—You shall have one hundred, said he, nay,
ten thousand, if they will do, my dear sister. And, kissing her, he
added, Pray give me your hand. John, said he, put up the horses; you
are all as welcome to me, for all your lady’s angry with me, as at any
inn you can put up at. Come, Mr. H——, said he, lead your aunt in; for
she won’t permit that honour to me.
This quite overcame her; and she said, giving her brother her hand,
Yes, I will, and you shall lead me any where! and kissed him. But don’t
think, said she, I can forgive you neither. And so he led her into the
parlour where I was. But, said she, why do you lead me to this wench?
’Tis my wife, my dear sister; and if you will not love her, yet don’t
forget common civilities to her, for your own sake.
Pray, madam, said her kinsman, since your brother is pleased to own his
marriage, we must not forget common civilities, as Mr. B—— says. And,
sir, added he, permit me to wish you joy. Thank you, sir, said he. And
may I? said he, looking at me. Yes, sir, replied my master. So he
saluted me, very complaisantly; and said, I vow to Gad, madam, I did
not know this yesterday; and if I was guilty of a fault, I beg your
pardon.
My lady said, Thou’rt a good-natured foolish fellow; thou might’st have
saved this nonsensical parade, till I had given thee leave. Why, aunt,
said he, if they are actually married, there’s no help for it; and we
must not make mischief between man and wife.
But brother, said she, do you think I’ll sit at table with the
creature? No contemptuous names, I beseech you, Lady Davers! I tell you
she is really my wife; and I must be a villain to suffer her to be ill
used. She has no protector but me; and, if you will permit her, she
will always love and honour you.—Indeed, indeed I will, madam, said I.
I cannot, I won’t sit down at table with her, said she: Pamela, I hope
thou dost not think I will?—Indeed, madam, said I, if your good brother
will permit it, I will attend your chair all the time you dine, to shew
my veneration for your ladyship, as the sister of my kind protector.
See, said he, her condition has not altered her; but I cannot permit in
her a conduct unworthy of my wife; and I hope my sister will not expect
it neither.
Let her leave the room, replied she, if I must stay. Indeed you are out
of the way, aunt, said her kinsman; that is not right, as things stand.
Said my master, No, madam, that must not be; but, if it must be so,
we’ll have two tables; you and your nephew shall sit at one, and my
wife and I at the other: and then see what a figure your unreasonable
punctilio will make you cut.—She seemed irresolute, and he placed her
at the table; the first course, which was fish, being brought in.
Where, said she to me, would’st thou presume to sit? Would’st have me
give place to thee too, wench?—Come, come, said my master, I’ll put
that out of dispute; and so set himself down by her ladyship, at the
upper end of the table, and placed me at his left hand. Excuse me, my
dear, said he; this once excuse me!—Oh! your cursed complaisance, said
she, to such a——. Hush, sister! hush! said he: I will not bear to hear
her spoken slightly of! ’Tis enough, that, to oblige your violent and
indecent caprice, you make me compromise with you thus.
Come, sir, added he, pray take your place next your gentle aunt!—Beck,
said she, do you sit down by Pamela there, since it must be so; we’ll
be hail fellow all! With all my heart, replied my master; I have so
much honour for all the sex, that I would not have the meanest person
of it stand, while I sit, had I been to have made the custom. Mrs.
Worden, pray sit down. Sir, said she, I hope I shall know my place
better.
My lady sat considering; and then, lifting up her hands, said, Lord!
what will this world come to?—To nothing but what’s very good, replied
my master, if such spirits as Lady Davers’s do but take the rule of it.
Shall I help you, sister, to some of the carp? Help your beloved! said
she. That’s kind! said he.—Now, that’s my good Lady Davers! Here, my
love, let me help you, since my sister desires it.—Mighty well,
returned she, mighty well!—But sat on one side, turning from me, as it
were.
Dear aunt, said her kinsman, let’s see you buss and be friends: since
’tis so, what signifies it? Hold thy fool’s tongue! said she: Is thy
tone so soon turned since yesterday? said my master, I hope nothing
affronting was offered yesterday to my wife, in her own house. She hit
him a good smart slap on the shoulder: Take that, impudent brother said
she. I’ll wife you, and in her own house! She seemed half afraid: but
he, in very good humour, kissed her, and said, I thank you, sister, I
thank you. But I have not had a blow from you before for some time!
‘Fore gad, said her kinsman, ’tis very kind of you to take it so well.
Her ladyship is as good a woman as ever lived; but I’ve had many a cuff
from her myself.
I won’t put it up neither, said my master, except you’ll assure me you
have seen her serve her lord so.
I pressed my foot to his, and said, softly, Don’t, dear sir!—What! said
she, is the creature begging me off from insult? If his manners won’t
keep him from outraging me, I won’t owe his forebearance to thee,
wench.
Said my master, and put some fish on my lady’s plate, Well does Lady
Davers use the word insult!—But, come, let me see you eat one mouthful,
and I’ll forgive you; and he put the knife in one of her hands, and the
fork in the other. As I hope to live, said he, I cannot bear this silly
childishness, for nothing at all! I am quite ashamed of it.
She put a little bit to her mouth, but laid it down in her plate again:
I cannot eat, said she; I cannot swallow, I’m sure. It will certainly
choak me. He had forbid his men-servants to come in, that they might
not behold the scene he expected; and rose from table himself, and
filled a glass of wine, her woman offering, and her kinsman rising, to
do it. Mean-time, his seat between us being vacant, she turned to me:
How now, confidence, said she, darest thou sit next me? Why dost thou
not rise, and take the glass from thy property?
Sit still, my dear, said he; I’ll help you both. But I arose; for I was
afraid of a good cuff; and said, Pray, sir, let me help my lady. So you
shall, replied he, when she’s in a humour to receive it as she ought.
Sister, said he, with a glass in his hand, pray drink; you’ll perhaps
eat a little bit of something then. Is this to insult me? said she.—No,
really, returned he: but to incite you to eat; for you’ll be sick for
want of it.
She took the glass, and said, God forgive you, wicked wretch, for your
usage of me this day!—This is a little as it used to be!—I once had
your love;—and now it is changed; and for whom? that vexes me! And wept
so, she was forced to set down the glass.