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

CHAPTER VII.
_Philosophical reflections, the like not to be found in any light
French romance. Mr Booby's grave advice to Joseph, and Fanny's
encounter with a beau._
Habit, my good reader, hath so vast a prevalence over the human mind,
that there is scarce anything too strange or too strong to be asserted
of it. The story of the miser, who, from long accustoming to cheat
others, came at last to cheat himself, and with great delight and
triumph picked his own pocket of a guinea to convey to his hoard, is not
impossible or improbable. In like manner it fares with the practisers of
deceit, who, from having long deceived their acquaintance, gain at last
a power of deceiving themselves, and acquire that very opinion (however
false) of their own abilities, excellencies, and virtues, into which
they have for years perhaps endeavoured to betray their neighbours. Now,
reader, to apply this observation to my present purpose, thou must know,
that as the passion generally called love exercises most of the talents
of the female or fair world, so in this they now and then discover a
small inclination to deceit; for which thou wilt not be angry with the
beautiful creatures when thou hast considered that at the age of seven,
or something earlier, miss is instructed by her mother that master is a
very monstrous kind of animal, who will, if she suffers him to come too
near her, infallibly eat her up and grind her to pieces: that, so far
from kissing or toying with him of her own accord, she must not admit
him to kiss or toy with her: and, lastly, that she must never have any
affection towards him; for if she should, all her friends in petticoats
would esteem her a traitress, point at her, and hunt her out of their
society. These impressions, being first received, are farther and deeper
inculcated by their school-mistresses and companions; so that by the age
of ten they have contracted such a dread and abhorrence of the
above-named monster, that whenever they see him they fly from him as the
innocent hare doth from the greyhound. Hence, to the age of fourteen or
fifteen, they entertain a mighty antipathy to master; they resolve, and
frequently profess, that they will never have any commerce with him, and
entertain fond hopes of passing their lives out of his reach, of the
possibility of which they have so visible an example in their good
maiden aunt. But when they arrive at this period, and have now passed
their second climacteric, when their wisdom, grown riper, begins to see
a little farther, and, from almost daily falling in master's way, to
apprehend the great difficulty of keeping out of it; and when they
observe him look often at them, and sometimes very eagerly and earnestly
too (for the monster seldom takes any notice of them till at this age),
they then begin to think of their danger; and, as they perceive they
cannot easily avoid him, the wiser part bethink themselves of providing
by other means for their security. They endeavour, by all methods they
can invent, to render themselves so amiable in his eyes, that he may
have no inclination to hurt them; in which they generally succeed so
well, that his eyes, by frequent languishing, soon lessen their idea of
his fierceness, and so far abate their fears, that they venture to
parley with him; and when they perceive him so different from what he
hath been described, all gentleness, softness, kindness, tenderness,
fondness, their dreadful apprehensions vanish in a moment; and now (it
being usual with the human mind to skip from one extreme to its
opposite, as easily, and almost as suddenly, as a bird from one bough to
another) love instantly succeeds to fear: but, as it happens to persons
who have in their infancy been thoroughly frightened with certain
no-persons called ghosts, that they retain their dread of those beings
after they are convinced that there are no such things, so these young
ladies, though they no longer apprehend devouring, cannot so entirely
shake off all that hath been instilled into them; they still entertain
the idea of that censure which was so strongly imprinted on their tender
minds, to which the declarations of abhorrence they every day hear from
their companions greatly contribute. To avoid this censure, therefore,
is now their only care; for which purpose they still pretend the same
aversion to the monster: and the more they love him, the more ardently
they counterfeit the antipathy. By the continual and constant practice
of which deceit on others, they at length impose on themselves, and
really believe they hate what they love. Thus, indeed, it happened to
Lady Booby, who loved Joseph long before she knew it; and now loved him
much more than she suspected. She had indeed, from the time of his
sister's arrival in the quality of her niece, and from the instant she
viewed him in the dress and character of a gentleman, began to conceive
secretly a design which love had concealed from herself till a dream
betrayed it to her.
She had no sooner risen than she sent for her nephew. When he came to
her, after many compliments on his choice, she told him, "He might
perceive, in her condescension to admit her own servant to her table,
that she looked on the family of Andrews as his relations, and indeed
hers; that, as he had married into such a family, it became him to
endeavour by all methods to raise it as much as possible. At length she
advised him to use all his heart to dissuade Joseph from his intended
match, which would still enlarge their relation to meanness and poverty;
concluding that, by a commission in the army, or some other genteel
employment, he might soon put young Mr Andrews on the foot of a
gentleman; and, that being once done, his accomplishments might quickly
gain him an alliance which would not be to their discredit."
Her nephew heartily embraced this proposal, and, finding Mr Joseph with
his wife, at his return to her chamber, he immediately began thus: "My
love to my dear Pamela, brother, will extend to all her relations; nor
shall I show them less respect than if I had married into the family of
a duke. I hope I have given you some early testimonies of this, and
shall continue to give you daily more. You will excuse me therefore,
brother, if my concern for your interest makes me mention what may be,
perhaps, disagreeable to you to hear: but I must insist upon it, that,
if you have any value for my alliance or my friendship, you will decline
any thoughts of engaging farther with a girl who is, as you are a
relation of mine, so much beneath you. I know there may be at first some
difficulty in your compliance, but that will daily diminish; and you
will in the end sincerely thank me for my advice. I own, indeed, the
girl is handsome; but beauty alone is a poor ingredient, and will make
but an uncomfortable marriage."--"Sir," said Joseph, "I assure you her
beauty is her least perfection; nor do I know a virtue which that young
creature is not possesst of."--"As to her virtues," answered Mr Booby,
"you can be yet but a slender judge of them; but, if she had never so
many, you will find her equal in these among her superiors in birth and
fortune, which now you are to esteem on a footing with yourself; at
least I will take care they shall shortly be so, unless you prevent me
by degrading yourself with such a match, a match I have hardly patience
to think of, and which would break the hearts of your parents, who now
rejoice in the expectation of seeing you make a figure in the
world."--"I know not," replied Joseph, "that my parents have any power
over my inclinations; nor am I obliged to sacrifice my happiness to
their whim or ambition: besides, I shall be very sorry to see that the
unexpected advancement of my sister should so suddenly inspire them with
this wicked pride, and make them despise their equals. I am resolved on
no account to quit my dear Fanny; no, though I could raise her as high
above her present station as you have raised my sister."--"Your sister,
as well as myself," said Booby, "are greatly obliged to you for the
comparison: but, sir, she is not worthy to be compared in beauty to my
Pamela; nor hath she half her merit. And besides, sir, as you civilly
throw my marriage with your sister in my teeth, I must teach you the
wide difference between us: my fortune enabled me to please myself; and
it would have been as overgrown a folly in me to have omitted it as in
you to do it."--"My fortune enables me to please myself likewise," said
Joseph; "for all my pleasure is centered in Fanny; and whilst I have
health I shall be able to support her with my labour in that station to
which she was born, and with which she is content."--"Brother," said
Pamela, "Mr Booby advises you as a friend; and no doubt my papa and
mamma will be of his opinion, and will have great reason to be angry
with you for destroying what his goodness hath done, and throwing down
our family again, after he hath raised it. It would become you better,
brother, to pray for the assistance of grace against such a passion than
to indulge it."--"Sure, sister, you are not in earnest; I am sure she is
your equal, at least."--"She was my equal," answered Pamela; "but I am
no longer Pamela Andrews; I am now this gentleman's lady, and, as such,
am above her.--I hope I shall never behave with an unbecoming pride:
but, at the same time, I shall always endeavour to know myself, and
question not the assistance of grace to that purpose." They were now
summoned to breakfast, and thus ended their discourse for the present,
very little to the satisfaction of any of the parties.
Fanny was now walking in an avenue at some distance from the house,
where Joseph had promised to take the first opportunity of coming to
her. She had not a shilling in the world, and had subsisted ever since
her return entirely on the charity of parson Adams. A young gentleman,
attended by many servants, came up to her, and asked her if that was not
the Lady Booby's house before him? This, indeed, he well knew; but had
framed the question for no other reason than to make her look up, and
discover if her face was equal to the delicacy of her shape. He no
sooner saw it than he was struck with amazement. He stopt his horse, and
swore she was the most beautiful creature he ever beheld. Then,
instantly alighting and delivering his horse to his servant, he rapt out
half-a-dozen oaths that he would kiss her; to which she at first
submitted, begging he would not be rude; but he was not satisfied with
the civility of a salute, nor even with the rudest attack he could make
on her lips, but caught her in his arms, and endeavoured to kiss her
breasts, which with all her strength she resisted, and, as our spark was
not of the Herculean race, with some difficulty prevented. The young
gentleman, being soon out of breath in the struggle, quitted her, and,
remounting his horse, called one of his servants to him, whom he ordered
to stay behind with her, and make her any offers whatever to prevail on
her to return home with him in the evening; and to assure her he would
take her into keeping. He then rode on with his other servants, and
arrived at the lady's house, to whom he was a distant relation, and was
come to pay a visit.
The trusty fellow, who was employed in an office he had been long
accustomed to, discharged his part with all the fidelity and dexterity
imaginable, but to no purpose. She was entirely deaf to his offers, and
rejected them with the utmost disdain. At last the pimp, who had perhaps
more warm blood about him than his master, began to sollicit for
himself; he told her, though he was a servant, he was a man of some
fortune, which he would make her mistress of; and this without any
insult to her virtue, for that he would marry her. She answered, if his
master himself, or the greatest lord in the land, would marry her, she
would refuse him. At last, being weary with persuasions, and on fire
with charms which would have almost kindled a flame in the bosom of an
ancient philosopher or modern divine, he fastened his horse to the
ground, and attacked her with much more force than the gentleman had
exerted. Poor Fanny would not have been able to resist his rudeness a
short time, but the deity who presides over chaste love sent her Joseph
to her assistance. He no sooner came within sight, and perceived her
struggling with a man, than, like a cannon-ball, or like lightning, or
anything that is swifter, if anything be, he ran towards her, and,
coming up just as the ravisher had torn her handkerchief from her
breast, before his lips had touched that seat of innocence and bliss, he
dealt him so lusty a blow in that part of his neck which a rope would
have become with the utmost propriety, that the fellow staggered
backwards, and, perceiving he had to do with something rougher than the
little, tender, trembling hand of Fanny, he quitted her, and, turning
about, saw his rival, with fire flashing from his eyes, again ready to
assail him; and, indeed, before he could well defend himself, or return
the first blow, he received a second, which, had it fallen on that part
of the stomach to which it was directed, would have been probably the
last he would have had any occasion for; but the ravisher, lifting up
his hand, drove the blow upwards to his mouth, whence it dislodged three
of his teeth; and now, not conceiving any extraordinary affection for
the beauty of Joseph's person, nor being extremely pleased with this
method of salutation, he collected all his force, and aimed a blow at
Joseph's breast, which he artfully parried with one fist, so that it
lost its force entirely in air; and, stepping one foot backward, he
darted his fist so fiercely at his enemy, that, had he not caught it in
his hand (for he was a boxer of no inferior fame), it must have tumbled
him on the ground. And now the ravisher meditated another blow, which he
aimed at that part of the breast where the heart is lodged; Joseph did
not catch it as before, yet so prevented its aim that it fell directly
on his nose, but with abated force. Joseph then, moving both fist and
foot forwards at the same time, threw his head so dexterously into the
stomach of the ravisher that he fell a lifeless lump on the field, where
he lay many minutes breathless and motionless.
When Fanny saw her Joseph receive a blow in his face, and blood running
in a stream from him, she began to tear her hair and invoke all human
and divine power to his assistance. She was not, however, long under
this affliction before Joseph, having conquered his enemy, ran to her,
and assured her he was not hurt; she then instantly fell on her knees,
and thanked God that he had made Joseph the means of her rescue, and at
the same time preserved him from being injured in attempting it. She
offered, with her handkerchief, to wipe his blood from his face; but he,
seeing his rival attempting to recover his legs, turned to him, and
asked him if he had enough? To which the other answered he had; for he
believed he had fought with the devil instead of a man; and, loosening
his horse, said he should not have attempted the wench if he had known
she had been so well provided for.
Fanny now begged Joseph to return with her to parson Adams, and to
promise that he would leave her no more. These were propositions so
agreeable to Joseph, that, had he heard them, he would have given an
immediate assent; but indeed his eyes were now his only sense; for you
may remember, reader, that the ravisher had tore her handkerchief from
Fanny's neck, by which he had discovered such a sight, that Joseph hath
declared all the statues he ever beheld were so much inferior to it in
beauty, that it was more capable of converting a man into a statue than
of being imitated by the greatest master of that art. This modest
creature, whom no warmth in summer could ever induce to expose her
charms to the wanton sun, a modesty to which, perhaps, they owed their
inconceivable whiteness, had stood many minutes bare-necked in the
presence of Joseph before her apprehension of his danger and the horror
of seeing his blood would suffer her once to reflect on what concerned
herself; till at last, when the cause of her concern had vanished, an
admiration at his silence, together with observing the fixed position
of his eyes, produced an idea in the lovely maid which brought more
blood into her face than had flowed from Joseph's nostrils. The snowy
hue of her bosom was likewise changed to vermilion at the instant when
she clapped her handkerchief round her neck. Joseph saw the uneasiness
she suffered, and immediately removed his eyes from an object, in
surveying which he had felt the greatest delight which the organs of
sight were capable of conveying to his soul;--so great was his fear of
offending her, and so truly did his passion for her deserve the noble
name of love.
Fanny, being recovered from her confusion, which was almost equalled by
what Joseph had felt from observing it, again mentioned her request;
this was instantly and gladly complied with; and together they crossed
two or three fields, which brought them to the habitation of Mr Adams.