CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VI.
How Joseph Andrews writ a letter to his sister Pamela.
"To MRS PAMELA ANDREWS, LIVING WITH SQUIRE BOOBY.
"DEAR SISTER,—Since I received your letter of your good
lady's death, we have had a misfortune of the same kind in our family. My
worthy master Sir Thomas died about four days ago; and, what is worse, my poor
lady is certainly gone distracted. None of the servants expected her to take it
so to heart, because they quarrelled almost every day of their lives: but no
more of that, because you know, Pamela, I never loved to tell the secrets of my
master's family; but to be sure you must have known they never loved one
another; and I have heard her ladyship wish his honour dead above a thousand
times; but nobody knows what it is to lose a friend till they have lost him.
"Don't tell anybody what I write, because I should not
care to have folks say I discover what passes in our family; but if it had not
been so great a lady, I should have thought she had had a mind to me. Dear
Pamela, don't tell anybody; but she ordered me to sit down by her bedside, when
she was naked in bed; and she held my hand, and talked exactly as a lady does
to her sweetheart in a stage-play, which I have seen in Covent Garden, while
she wanted him to be no better than he should be.
"If madam be mad, I shall not care for staying long in
the family; so I heartily wish you could get me a place, either at the
squire's, or some other neighbouring gentleman's, unless it be true that you
are going to be married to parson Williams, as folks talk, and then I should be
very willing to be his clerk; for which you know I am qualified, being able to
read and to set a psalm.
"I fancy I shall be discharged very soon; and the
moment I am, unless I hear from you, I shall return to my old master's
country-seat, if it be only to see parson Adams, who is the best man in the
world. London is a bad place, and there is so little good fellowship, that the
next-door neighbours don't know one another. Pray give my service to all
friends that inquire for me. So I rest
"Your loving brother,
"JOSEPH ANDREWS."
As soon as Joseph had sealed and directed this letter he
walked downstairs, where he met Mrs. Slipslop, with whom we shall take this
opportunity to bring the reader a little better acquainted. She was a maiden gentlewoman
of about forty-five years of age, who, having made a small slip in her youth,
had continued a good maid ever since. She was not at this time remarkably
handsome; being very short, and rather too corpulent in body, and somewhat red,
with the addition of pimples in the face. Her nose was likewise rather too
large, and her eyes too little; nor did she resemble a cow so much in her
breath as in two brown globes which she carried before her; one of her legs was
also a little shorter than the other, which occasioned her to limp as she
walked. This fair creature had long cast the eyes of affection on Joseph, in
which she had not met with quite so good success as she probably wished,
though, besides the allurements of her native charms, she had given him tea,
sweetmeats, wine, and many other delicacies, of which, by keeping the keys, she
had the absolute command. Joseph, however, had not returned the least gratitude
to all these favours, not even so much as a kiss; though I would not insinuate
she was so easily to be satisfied; for surely then he would have been highly
blameable. The truth is, she was arrived at an age when she thought she might
indulge herself in any liberties with a man, without the danger of bringing a
third person into the world to betray them. She imagined that by so long a
self-denial she had not only made amends for the small slip of her youth above
hinted at, but had likewise laid up a quantity of merit to excuse any future
failings. In a word, she resolved to give a loose to her amorous inclinations,
and to pay off the debt of pleasure which she found she owed herself, as fast
as possible.
With these charms of person, and in this disposition of
mind, she encountered poor Joseph at the bottom of the stairs, and asked him if
he would drink a glass of something good this morning. Joseph, whose spirits
were not a little cast down, very readily and thankfully accepted the offer;
and together they went into a closet, where, having delivered him a full glass
of ratafia, and desired him to sit down, Mrs. Slipslop thus began:—
"Sure nothing can be a more simple contract in a woman
than to place her affections on a boy. If I had ever thought it would have been
my fate, I should have wished to die a thousand deaths rather than live to see
that day. If we like a man, the lightest hint sophisticates. Whereas a boy
proposes upon us to break through all the regulations of modesty, before we can
make any oppression upon him." Joseph, who did not understand a word she
said, answered, "Yes, madam."—"Yes, madam!" replied Mrs.
Slipslop with some warmth, "Do you intend to result my passion? Is it not
enough, ungrateful as you are, to make no return to all the favours I have done
you; but you must treat me with ironing? Barbarous monster! how have I deserved
that my passion should be resulted and treated with ironing?"
"Madam," answered Joseph, "I don't understand your hard words;
but I am certain you have no occasion to call me ungrateful, for, so far from
intending you any wrong, I have always loved you as well as if you had been my
own mother." "How, sirrah!" says Mrs. Slipslop in a rage;
"your own mother? Do you assinuate that I am old enough to be your mother?
I don't know what a stripling may think, but I believe a man would refer me to
any green-sickness silly girl whatsomdever: but I ought to despise you rather
than be angry with you, for referring the conversation of girls to that of a
woman of sense."—"Madam," says Joseph, "I am sure I have
always valued the honour you did me by your conversation, for I know you are a
woman of learning."—"Yes, but, Joseph," said she, a little
softened by the compliment to her learning, "if you had a value for me,
you certainly would have found some method of showing it me; for I am convicted
you must see the value I have for you. Yes, Joseph, my eyes, whether I would or
no, must have declared a passion I cannot conquer.—Oh! Joseph!"
As when a hungry tigress, who long has traversed the woods
in fruitless search, sees within the reach of her claws a lamb, she prepares to
leap on her prey; or as a voracious pike, of immense size, surveys through the
liquid element a roach or gudgeon, which cannot escape her jaws, opens them
wide to swallow the little fish; so did Mrs. Slipslop prepare to lay her
violent amorous hands on the poor Joseph, when luckily her mistress's bell
rung, and delivered the intended martyr from her clutches. She was obliged to
leave him abruptly, and to defer the execution of her purpose till some other
time. We shall therefore return to the Lady Booby, and give our reader some
account of her behaviour, after she was left by Joseph in a temper of mind not
greatly different from that of the inflamed Slipslop.
CHAPTER XII.
Containing many surprizing adventures which Joseph Andrews
met with on the road, scarce credible to those who have never travelled in a
stage-coach.
Nothing remarkable happened on the road till their arrival
at the inn to which the horses were ordered; whither they came about two in the
morning. The moon then shone very bright; and Joseph, making his friend a
present of a pint of wine, and thanking him for the favour of his horse,
notwithstanding all entreaties to the contrary, proceeded on his journey on
foot.
He had not gone above two miles, charmed with the hope of
shortly seeing his beloved Fanny, when he was met by two fellows in a narrow
lane, and ordered to stand and deliver. He readily gave them all the money he
had, which was somewhat less than two pounds; and told them he hoped they would
be so generous as to return him a few shillings, to defray his charges on his
way home.
One of the ruffians answered with an oath, "Yes, we'll
give you something presently: but first strip and be d—n'd to
you."—"Strip," cried the other, "or I'll blow your brains
to the devil." Joseph, remembering that he had borrowed his coat and
breeches of a friend, and that he should be ashamed of making any excuse for
not returning them, replied, he hoped they would not insist on his clothes,
which were not worth much, but consider the coldness of the night. "You
are cold, are you, you rascal?" said one of the robbers: "I'll warm
you with a vengeance;" and, damning his eyes, snapped a pistol at his
head; which he had no sooner done than the other levelled a blow at him with
his stick, which Joseph, who was expert at cudgel-playing, caught with his, and
returned the favour so successfully on his adversary, that he laid him
sprawling at his feet, and at the same instant received a blow from behind,
with the butt end of a pistol, from the other villain, which felled him to the
ground, and totally deprived him of his senses.
The thief who had been knocked down had now recovered
himself; and both together fell to belabouring poor Joseph with their sticks,
till they were convinced they had put an end to his miserable being: they then
stripped him entirely naked, threw him into a ditch, and departed with their
booty.
The poor wretch, who lay motionless a long time, just began
to recover his senses as a stage-coach came by. The postillion, hearing a man's
groans, stopt his horses, and told the coachman he was certain there was a dead
man lying in the ditch, for he heard him groan. "Go on, sirrah," says
the coachman; "we are confounded late, and have no time to look after dead
men." A lady, who heard what the postillion said, and likewise heard the
groan, called eagerly to the coachman to stop and see what was the matter. Upon
which he bid the postillion alight, and look into the ditch. He did so, and
returned, "that there was a man sitting upright, as naked as ever he was
born."—"O J—sus!" cried the lady; "a naked man! Dear
coachman, drive on and leave him." Upon this the gentlemen got out of the
coach; and Joseph begged them to have mercy upon him: for that he had been
robbed and almost beaten to death. "Robbed!" cries an old gentleman:
"let us make all the haste imaginable, or we shall be robbed too." A
young man who belonged to the law answered, "He wished they had passed by
without taking any notice; but that now they might be proved to have been last
in his company; if he should die they might be called to some account for his
murder. He therefore thought it advisable to save the poor creature's life, for
their own sakes, if possible; at least, if he died, to prevent the jury's
finding that they fled for it. He was therefore of opinion to take the man into
the coach, and carry him to the next inn." The lady insisted, "That
he should not come into the coach. That if they lifted him in, she would
herself alight: for she had rather stay in that place to all eternity than ride
with a naked man." The coachman objected, "That he could not suffer
him to be taken in unless somebody would pay a shilling for his carriage the
four miles." Which the two gentlemen refused to do. But the lawyer, who
was afraid of some mischief happening to himself, if the wretch was left behind
in that condition, saying no man could be too cautious in these matters, and
that he remembered very extraordinary cases in the books, threatened the
coachman, and bid him deny taking him up at his peril; for that, if he died, he
should be indicted for his murder; and if he lived, and brought an action
against him, he would willingly take a brief in it. These words had a sensible
effect on the coachman, who was well acquainted with the person who spoke them;
and the old gentleman above mentioned, thinking the naked man would afford him
frequent opportunities of showing his wit to the lady, offered to join with the
company in giving a mug of beer for his fare; till, partly alarmed by the
threats of the one, and partly by the promises of the other, and being perhaps
a little moved with compassion at the poor creature's condition, who stood
bleeding and shivering with the cold, he at length agreed; and Joseph was now
advancing to the coach, where, seeing the lady, who held the sticks of her fan
before her eyes, he absolutely refused, miserable as he was, to enter, unless
he was furnished with sufficient covering to prevent giving the least offence
to decency—so perfectly modest was this young man; such mighty effects had the
spotless example of the amiable Pamela, and the excellent sermons of Mr Adams,
wrought upon him.
Though there were several greatcoats about the coach, it was
not easy to get over this difficulty which Joseph had started. The two gentlemen
complained they were cold, and could not spare a rag; the man of wit saying,
with a laugh, that charity began at home; and the coachman, who had two
greatcoats spread under him, refused to lend either, lest they should be made
bloody: the lady's footman desired to be excused for the same reason, which the
lady herself, notwithstanding her abhorrence of a naked man, approved: and it
is more than probable poor Joseph, who obstinately adhered to his modest
resolution, must have perished, unless the postillion (a lad who hath been
since transported for robbing a hen-roost) had voluntarily stript off a
greatcoat, his only garment, at the same time swearing a great oath (for which
he was rebuked by the passengers), "that he would rather ride in his shirt
all his life than suffer a fellow-creature to lie in so miserable a
condition."
Joseph, having put on the greatcoat, was lifted into the
coach, which now proceeded on its journey. He declared himself almost dead with
the cold, which gave the man of wit an occasion to ask the lady if she could
not accommodate him with a dram. She answered, with some resentment, "She
wondered at his asking her such a question; but assured him she never tasted
any such thing."
The lawyer was inquiring into the circumstances of the
robbery, when the coach stopt, and one of the ruffians, putting a pistol in,
demanded their money of the passengers, who readily gave it them; and the lady,
in her fright, delivered up a little silver bottle, of about a half-pint size,
which the rogue, clapping it to his mouth, and drinking her health, declared,
held some of the best Nantes he had ever tasted: this the lady afterwards
assured the company was the mistake of her maid, for that she had ordered her
to fill the bottle with Hungary-water.
As soon as the fellows were departed, the lawyer, who had,
it seems, a case of pistols in the seat of the coach, informed the company,
that if it had been daylight, and he could have come at his pistols, he would
not have submitted to the robbery: he likewise set forth that he had often met
highwaymen when he travelled on horseback, but none ever durst attack him;
concluding that, if he had not been more afraid for the lady than for himself,
he should not have now parted with his money so easily.
As wit is generally observed to love to reside in empty
pockets, so the gentleman whose ingenuity we have above remarked, as soon as he
had parted with his money, began to grow wonderfully facetious. He made frequent
allusions to Adam and Eve, and said many excellent things on figs and
fig-leaves; which perhaps gave more offence to Joseph than to any other in the
company.
The lawyer likewise made several very pretty jests without
departing from his profession. He said, "If Joseph and the lady were
alone, he would be more capable of making a conveyance to her, as his affairs
were not fettered with any incumbrance; he'd warrant he soon suffered a
recovery by a writ of entry, which was the proper way to create heirs in tail;
that, for his own part, he would engage to make so firm a settlement in a
coach, that there should be no danger of an ejectment," with an inundation
of the like gibberish, which he continued to vent till the coach arrived at an
inn, where one servant-maid only was up, in readiness to attend the coachman,
and furnish him with cold meat and a dram. Joseph desired to alight, and that
he might have a bed prepared for him, which the maid readily promised to
perform; and, being a good-natured wench, and not so squeamish as the lady had
been, she clapt a large fagot on the fire, and, furnishing Joseph with a
greatcoat belonging to one of the hostlers, desired him to sit down and warm
himself whilst she made his bed. The coachman, in the meantime, took an opportunity
to call up a surgeon, who lived within a few doors; after which, he reminded
his passengers how late they were, and, after they had taken leave of Joseph,
hurried them off as fast as he could.
The wench soon got Joseph to bed, and promised to use her
interest to borrow him a shirt; but imagining, as she afterwards said, by his
being so bloody, that he must be a dead man, she ran with all speed to hasten
the surgeon, who was more than half drest, apprehending that the coach had been
overturned, and some gentleman or lady hurt. As soon as the wench had informed
him at his window that it was a poor foot-passenger who had been stripped of
all he had, and almost murdered, he chid her for disturbing him so early,
slipped off his clothes again, and very quietly returned to bed and to sleep.
Aurora now began to shew her blooming cheeks over the hills,
whilst ten millions of feathered songsters, in jocund chorus, repeated odes a
thousand times sweeter than those of our laureat, and sung both the day and the
song; when the master of the inn, Mr Tow-wouse, arose, and learning from his
maid an account of the robbery, and the situation of his poor naked guest, he
shook his head, and cried, "good-lack-a-day!" and then ordered the
girl to carry him one of his own shirts.
Mrs Tow-wouse was just awake, and had stretched out her arms
in vain to fold her departed husband, when the maid entered the room.
"Who's there? Betty?"—"Yes, madam."—"Where's your
master?"—"He's without, madam; he hath sent me for a shirt to lend a
poor naked man, who hath been robbed and murdered."—"Touch one if you
dare, you slut," said Mrs Tow-wouse: "your master is a pretty sort of
a man, to take in naked vagabonds, and clothe them with his own clothes. I
shall have no such doings. If you offer to touch anything, I'll throw the
chamber-pot at your head. Go, send your master to me."—"Yes,
madam," answered Betty. As soon as he came in, she thus began: "What
the devil do you mean by this, Mr Tow-wouse? Am I to buy shirts to lend to a
set of scabby rascals?"—"My dear," said Mr Tow-wouse, "this
is a poor wretch."—"Yes," says she, "I know it is a poor
wretch; but what the devil have we to do with poor wretches? The law makes us
provide for too many already. We shall have thirty or forty poor wretches in
red coats shortly."—"My dear," cries Tow-wouse, "this man
hath been robbed of all he hath."—"Well then," said she,
"where's his money to pay his reckoning? Why doth not such a fellow go to
an alehouse? I shall send him packing as soon as I am up, I assure
you."—"My dear," said he, "common charity won't suffer you
to do that."—"Common charity, a f—t!" says she, "common
charity teaches us to provide for ourselves and our families; and I and mine
won't be ruined by your charity, I assure you."—"Well," says he,
"my dear, do as you will, when you are up; you know I never contradict
you."—"No," says she; "if the devil was to contradict me, I
would make the house too hot to hold him."
With such like discourses they consumed near half-an-hour,
whilst Betty provided a shirt from the hostler, who was one of her sweethearts,
and put it on poor Joseph. The surgeon had likewise at last visited him, and
washed and drest his wounds, and was now come to acquaint Mr Tow-wouse that his
guest was in such extreme danger of his life, that he scarce saw any hopes of
his recovery. "Here's a pretty kettle of fish," cries Mrs Tow-wouse,
"you have brought upon us! We are like to have a funeral at our own
expense." Tow-wouse (who, notwithstanding his charity, would have given his
vote as freely as ever he did at an election, that any other house in the
kingdom should have quiet possession of his guest) answered, "My dear, I
am not to blame; he was brought hither by the stage-coach, and Betty had put
him to bed before I was stirring."—"I'll Betty her," says
she.—At which, with half her garments on, the other half under her arm, she
sallied out in quest of the unfortunate Betty, whilst Tow-wouse and the surgeon
went to pay a visit to poor Joseph, and inquire into the circumstances of this
melancholy affair.