# The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book II, Chapter VI

CHAPTER VI.
_Conclusion of the unfortunate jilt._
Leonora, having once broke through the bounds which custom and modesty
impose on her sex, soon gave an unbridled indulgence to her passion. Her
visits to Bellarmine were more constant, as well as longer, than his
surgeon's: in a word, she became absolutely his nurse; made his
water-gruel, administered him his medicines; and, notwithstanding the
prudent advice of her aunt to the contrary, almost intirely resided in
her wounded lover's apartment.
The ladies of the town began to take her conduct under consideration: it
was the chief topic of discourse at their tea-tables, and was very
severely censured by the most part; especially by Lindamira, a lady
whose discreet and starch carriage, together with a constant attendance
at church three times a day, had utterly defeated many malicious attacks
on her own reputation; for such was the envy that Lindamira's virtue had
attracted, that, notwithstanding her own strict behaviour and strict
enquiry into the lives of others, she had not been able to escape being
the mark of some arrows herself, which, however, did her no injury; a
blessing, perhaps, owed by her to the clergy, who were her chief male
companions, and with two or three of whom she had been barbarously and
unjustly calumniated.
"Not so unjustly neither, perhaps," says Slipslop; "for the clergy are
men, as well as other folks."
The extreme delicacy of Lindamira's virtue was cruelly hurt by those
freedoms which Leonora allowed herself: she said, "It was an affront to
her sex; that she did not imagine it consistent with any woman's honour
to speak to the creature, or to be seen in her company; and that, for
her part, she should always refuse to dance at an assembly with her,
for fear of contamination by taking her by the hand."
But to return to my story: as soon as Bellarmine was recovered, which
was somewhat within a month from his receiving the wound, he set out,
according to agreement, for Leonora's father's, in order to propose the
match, and settle all matters with him touching settlements, and
the like.
A little before his arrival the old gentleman had received an intimation
of the affair by the following letter, which I can repeat verbatim, and
which, they say, was written neither by Leonora nor her aunt, though it
was in a woman's hand. The letter was in these words:--
"SIR,--I am sorry to acquaint you that your daughter, Leonora, hath
acted one of the basest as well as most simple parts with a young
gentleman to whom she had engaged herself, and whom she hath (pardon the
word) jilted for another of inferior fortune, notwithstanding his
superior figure. You may take what measures you please on this occasion;
I have performed what I thought my duty; as I have, though unknown to
you, a very great respect for your family."
The old gentleman did not give himself the trouble to answer this kind
epistle; nor did he take any notice of it, after he had read it, till he
saw Bellarmine. He was, to say the truth, one of those fathers who look
on children as an unhappy consequence of their youthful pleasures;
which, as he would have been delighted not to have had attended them, so
was he no less pleased with any opportunity to rid himself of the
incumbrance. He passed, in the world's language, as an exceeding good
father; being not only so rapacious as to rob and plunder all mankind to
the utmost of his power, but even to deny himself the conveniencies, and
almost necessaries, of life; which his neighbours attributed to a desire
of raising immense fortunes for his children: but in fact it was not
so; he heaped up money for its own sake only, and looked on his children
as his rivals, who were to enjoy his beloved mistress when he was
incapable of possessing her, and which he would have been much more
charmed with the power of carrying along with him; nor had his children
any other security of being his heirs than that the law would constitute
them such without a will, and that he had not affection enough for any
one living to take the trouble of writing one.
To this gentleman came Bellarmine, on the errand I have mentioned. His
person, his equipage, his family, and his estate, seemed to the father
to make him an advantageous match for his daughter: he therefore very
readily accepted his proposals: but when Bellarmine imagined the
principal affair concluded, and began to open the incidental matters of
fortune, the old gentleman presently changed his countenance, saying,
"He resolved never to marry his daughter on a Smithfield match; that
whoever had love for her to take her would, when he died, find her share
of his fortune in his coffers; but he had seen such examples of
undutifulness happen from the too early generosity of parents, that he
had made a vow never to part with a shilling whilst he lived." He
commended the saying of Solomon, "He that spareth the rod spoileth the
child;" but added, "he might have likewise asserted, That he that
spareth the purse saveth the child." He then ran into a discourse on the
extravagance of the youth of the age; whence he launched into a
dissertation on horses; and came at length to commend those Bellarmine
drove. That fine gentleman, who at another season would have been well
enough pleased to dwell a little on that subject, was now very eager to
resume the circumstance of fortune. He said, "He had a very high value
for the young lady, and would receive her with less than he would any
other whatever; but that even his love to her made some regard to
worldly matters necessary; for it would be a most distracting sight for
him to see her, when he had the honour to be her husband, in less than a
coach and six." The old gentleman answered, "Four will do, four will
do;" and then took a turn from horses to extravagance and from
extravagance to horses, till he came round to the equipage again;
whither he was no sooner arrived than Bellarmine brought him back to the
point; but all to no purpose; he made his escape from that subject in a
minute; till at last the lover declared, "That in the present situation
of his affairs it was impossible for him, though he loved Leonora more
than _tout le monde_, to marry her without any fortune." To which the
father answered, "He was sorry that his daughter must lose so valuable a
match; that, if he had an inclination, at present it was not in his
power to advance a shilling: that he had had great losses, and been at
great expenses on projects; which, though he had great expectation from
them, had yet produced him nothing: that he did not know what might
happen hereafter, as on the birth of a son, or such accident; but he
would make no promise, or enter into any article, for he would not break
his vow for all the daughters in the world."
In short, ladies, to keep you no longer in suspense, Bellarmine, having
tried every argument and persuasion which he could invent, and finding
them all ineffectual, at length took his leave, but not in order to
return to Leonora; he proceeded directly to his own seat, whence, after
a few days' stay, he returned to Paris, to the great delight of the
French and the honour of the English nation.
But as soon as he arrived at his home he presently despatched a
messenger with the following epistle to Leonora:--
"ADORABLE AND CHARMANTE,--I am sorry to have the honour to tell you I
am not the _heureux_ person destined for your divine arms. Your papa
hath told me so with a _politesse_ not often seen on this side Paris.
You may perhaps guess his manner of refusing me. _Ah, mon Dieu!_ You
will certainly believe me, madam, incapable myself of delivering this
_triste_ message, which I intend to try the French air to cure the
consequences of. _A jamais! Coeur! Ange! Au diable!_ If your papa
obliges you to a marriage, I hope we shall see you at Paris; till when,
the wind that flows from thence will be the warmest _dans le monde_, for
it will consist almost entirely of my sighs. _Adieu, ma princesse!
Ah, l'amour!_
"BELLARMINE."
I shall not attempt, ladies, to describe Leonora's condition when she
received this letter. It is a picture of horror, which I should have as
little pleasure in drawing as you in beholding. She immediately left the
place where she was the subject of conversation and ridicule, and
retired to that house I showed you when I began the story; where she
hath ever since led a disconsolate life, and deserves, perhaps, pity for
her misfortunes, more than our censure for a behaviour to which the
artifices of her aunt very probably contributed, and to which very young
women are often rendered too liable by that blameable levity in the
education of our sex.
"If I was inclined to pity her," said a young lady in the coach, "it
would be for the loss of Horatio; for I cannot discern any misfortune in
her missing such a husband as Bellarmine."
"Why, I must own," says Slipslop, "the gentleman was a little
false-hearted; but howsumever, it was hard to have two lovers, and get
never a husband at all. But pray, madam, what became of _Our-asho_?"
He remains, said the lady, still unmarried, and hath applied himself so
strictly to his business, that he hath raised, I hear, a very
considerable fortune. And what is remarkable, they say he never hears
the name of Leonora without a sigh, nor hath ever uttered one syllable
to charge her with her ill-conduct towards him.