The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book IV, Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII.

_A discourse which happened between Mr Adams, Mrs Adams, Joseph, and

Fanny; with some behaviour of Mr Adams which will be called by some few

readers very low, absurd, and unnatural._

The parson and his wife had just ended a long dispute when the lovers

came to the door. Indeed, this young couple had been the subject of the

dispute; for Mrs Adams was one of those prudent people who never do

anything to injure their families, or, perhaps, one of those good

mothers who would even stretch their conscience to serve their children.

She had long entertained hopes of seeing her eldest daughter succeed Mrs

Slipslop, and of making her second son an exciseman by Lady Booby's

interest. These were expectations she could not endure the thoughts of

quitting, and was, therefore, very uneasy to see her husband so resolute

to oppose the lady's intention in Fanny's affair. She told him, "It

behoved every man to take the first care of his family; that he had a

wife and six children, the maintaining and providing for whom would be

business enough for him without intermeddling in other folks' affairs;

that he had always preached up submission to superiors, and would do ill

to give an example of the contrary behaviour in his own conduct; that if

Lady Booby did wrong she must answer for it herself, and the sin would

not lie at their door; that Fanny had been a servant, and bred up in the

lady's own family, and consequently she must have known more of her than

they did, and it was very improbable, if she had behaved herself well,

that the lady would have been so bitterly her enemy; that perhaps he was

too much inclined to think well of her because she was handsome, but

handsome women were often no better than they should be; that G-- made

ugly women as well as handsome ones; and that if a woman had virtue it

signified nothing whether she had beauty or no." For all which reasons

she concluded he should oblige the lady, and stop the future publication

of the banns. But all these excellent arguments had no effect on the

parson, who persisted in doing his duty without regarding the

consequence it might have on his worldly interest. He endeavoured to

answer her as well as he could; to which she had just finished her reply

(for she had always the last word everywhere but at church) when Joseph

and Fanny entered their kitchen, where the parson and his wife then sat

at breakfast over some bacon and cabbage. There was a coldness in the

civility of Mrs Adams which persons of accurate speculation might have

observed, but escaped her present guests; indeed, it was a good deal

covered by the heartiness of Adams, who no sooner heard that Fanny had

neither eat nor drank that morning than he presented her a bone of bacon

he had just been gnawing, being the only remains of his provision, and

then ran nimbly to the tap, and produced a mug of small beer, which he

called ale; however, it was the best in his house. Joseph, addressing

himself to the parson, told him the discourse which had past between

Squire Booby, his sister, and himself concerning Fanny; he then

acquainted him with the dangers whence he had rescued her, and

communicated some apprehensions on her account. He concluded that he

should never have an easy moment till Fanny was absolutely his, and

begged that he might be suffered to fetch a licence, saying he could

easily borrow the money. The parson answered, That he had already given

his sentiments concerning a licence, and that a very few days would make

it unnecessary. "Joseph," says he, "I wish this haste doth not arise

rather from your impatience than your fear; but, as it certainly springs

from one of these causes, I will examine both. Of each of these

therefore in their turn; and first for the first of these, namely,

impatience. Now, child, I must inform you that, if in your purposed

marriage with this young woman you have no intention but the indulgence

of carnal appetites, you are guilty of a very heinous sin. Marriage was

ordained for nobler purposes, as you will learn when you hear the

service provided on that occasion read to you. Nay, perhaps, if you are

a good lad, I, child, shall give you a sermon gratis, wherein I shall

demonstrate how little regard ought to be had to the flesh on such

occasions. The text will be Matthew the 5th, and part of the 28th

verse--_Whosoever looketh on a woman, so as to lust after her_. The

latter part I shall omit, as foreign to my purpose. Indeed, all such

brutal lusts and affections are to be greatly subdued, if not totally

eradicated, before the vessel can be said to be consecrated to honour.

To marry with a view of gratifying those inclinations is a prostitution

of that holy ceremony, and must entail a curse on all who so lightly

undertake it. If, therefore, this haste arises from impatience, you are

to correct, and not give way to it. Now, as to the second head which I

proposed to speak to, namely, fear: it argues a diffidence, highly

criminal, of that Power in which alone we should put our trust, seeing

we may be well assured that he is able, not only to defeat the designs

of our enemies, but even to turn their hearts. Instead of taking,

therefore, any unjustifiable or desperate means to rid ourselves of

fear, we should resort to prayer only on these occasions; and we may be

then certain of obtaining what is best for us. When any accident

threatens us we are not to despair, nor, when it overtakes us, to

grieve; we must submit in all things to the will of Providence, and set

our affections so much on nothing here that we cannot quit it without

reluctance. You are a young man, and can know but little of this world;

I am older, and have seen a great deal. All passions are criminal in

their excess; and even love itself, if it is not subservient to our

duty, may render us blind to it. Had Abraham so loved his son Isaac as

to refuse the sacrifice required, is there any of us who would not

condemn him? Joseph, I know your many good qualities, and value you for

them; but, as I am to render an account of your soul, which is committed

to my cure, I cannot see any fault without reminding you of it. You are

too much inclined to passion, child, and have set your affections so

absolutely on this young woman, that, if G-- required her at your hands,

I fear you would reluctantly part with her. Now, believe me, no

Christian ought so to set his heart on any person or thing in this

world, but that, whenever it shall be required or taken from him in any

manner by Divine Providence, he may be able, peaceably, quietly, and

contentedly to resign it." At which words one came hastily in, and

acquainted Mr Adams that his youngest son was drowned. He stood silent a

moment, and soon began to stamp about the room and deplore his loss with

the bitterest agony. Joseph, who was overwhelmed with concern likewise,

recovered himself sufficiently to endeavour to comfort the parson; in

which attempt he used many arguments that he had at several times

remembered out of his own discourses, both in private and public (for he

was a great enemy to the passions, and preached nothing more than the

conquest of them by reason and grace), but he was not at leisure now to

hearken to his advice. "Child, child," said he, "do not go about

impossibilities. Had it been any other of my children I could have borne

it with patience; but my little prattler, the darling and comfort of my

old age--the little wretch, to be snatched out of life just at his

entrance into it; the sweetest, best-tempered boy, who never did a thing

to offend me. It was but this morning I gave him his first lesson in

_Que Genus_. This was the very book he learnt; poor child! it is of no

further use to thee now. He would have made the best scholar, and have

been an ornament to the Church;--such parts and such goodness never met

in one so young." "And the handsomest lad too," says Mrs Adams,

recovering from a swoon in Fanny's arms. "My poor Jacky, shall I never

see thee more?" cries the parson. "Yes, surely," says Joseph, "and in a

better place; you will meet again, never to part more." I believe the

parson did not hear these words, for he paid little regard to them, but

went on lamenting, whilst the tears trickled down into his bosom. At

last he cried out, "Where is my little darling?" and was sallying out,

when to his great surprize and joy, in which I hope the reader will

sympathize, he met his son in a wet condition indeed, but alive and

running towards him. The person who brought the news of his misfortune

had been a little too eager, as people sometimes are, from, I believe,

no very good principle, to relate ill news; and, seeing him fall into

the river, instead of running to his assistance, directly ran to

acquaint his father of a fate which he had concluded to be inevitable,

but whence the child was relieved by the same poor pedlar who had

relieved his father before from a less distress. The parson's joy was

now as extravagant as his grief had been before; he kissed and embraced

his son a thousand times, and danced about the room like one frantic;

but as soon as he discovered the face of his old friend the pedlar, and

heard the fresh obligation he had to him, what were his sensations? not

those which two courtiers feel in one another's embraces; not those with

which a great man receives the vile treacherous engines of his wicked

purposes, not those with which a worthless younger brother wishes his

elder joy of a son, or a man congratulates his rival on his obtaining a

mistress, a place, or an honour.--No, reader; he felt the ebullition,

the overflowings of a full, honest, open heart, towards the person who

had conferred a real obligation, and of which, if thou canst not

conceive an idea within, I will not vainly endeavour to assist thee.

When these tumults were over, the parson, taking Joseph aside, proceeded

thus--"No, Joseph, do not give too much way to thy passions, if thou

dost expect happiness." The patience of Joseph, nor perhaps of Job,

could bear no longer; he interrupted the parson, saying, "It was easier

to give advice than take it; nor did he perceive he could so entirely

conquer himself, when he apprehended he had lost his son, or when he

found him recovered."--"Boy," replied Adams, raising his voice, "it doth

not become green heads to advise grey hairs.--Thou art ignorant of the

tenderness of fatherly affection; when thou art a father thou wilt be

capable then only of knowing what a father can feel. No man is obliged

to impossibilities; and the loss of a child is one of those great trials

where our grief may be allowed to become immoderate."--"Well, sir,"

cries Joseph, "and if I love a mistress as well as you your child,

surely her loss would grieve me equally."--"Yes, but such love is

foolishness and wrong in itself, and ought to be conquered," answered

Adams; "it savours too much of the flesh."--"Sure, sir," says Joseph,

"it is not sinful to love my wife, no, not even to doat on her to

distraction!"--"Indeed but it is," says Adams. "Every man ought to love

his wife, no doubt; we are commanded so to do; but we ought to love her

with moderation and discretion."--"I am afraid I shall be guilty of some

sin in spite of all my endeavours," says Joseph; "for I shall love

without any moderation, I am sure."--"You talk foolishly and

childishly," cries Adams.--"Indeed," says Mrs Adams, who had listened to

the latter part of their conversation, "you talk more foolishly yourself.

I hope, my dear, you will never preach any such doctrine as that

husbands can love their wives too well. If I knew you had such a sermon

in the house I am sure I would burn it, and I declare, if I had not been

convinced you had loved me as well as you could, I can answer for

myself, I should have hated and despised you. Marry come up! Fine

doctrine, indeed! A wife hath a right to insist on her husband's loving

her as much as ever he can; and he is a sinful villain who doth not.

Doth he not promise to love her, and to comfort her, and to cherish her,

and all that? I am sure I remember it all as well as if I had repeated

it over but yesterday, and shall never forget it. Besides, I am certain

you do not preach as you practise; for you have been a loving and a

cherishing husband to me; that's the truth on't; and why you should

endeavour to put such wicked nonsense into this young man's head I

cannot devise. Don't hearken to him, Mr Joseph; be as good a husband as

you are able, and love your wife with all your body and soul too." Here

a violent rap at the door put an end to their discourse, and produced a

scene which the reader will find in the next chapter.