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

CHAPTER IX.
_What passed between the lady and Mrs Slipslop; in which we prophesy
there are some strokes which every one will not truly comprehend at the
first reading._
"Slipslop," said the lady, "I find too much reason to believe all thou
hast told me of this wicked Joseph; I have determined to part with him
instantly; so go you to the steward, and bid him pay his wages."
Slipslop, who had preserved hitherto a distance to her lady--rather out
of necessity than inclination--and who thought the knowledge of this
secret had thrown down all distinction between them, answered her
mistress very pertly--"She wished she knew her own mind; and that she
was certain she would call her back again before she was got half-way
downstairs." The lady replied, she had taken a resolution, and was
resolved to keep it. "I am sorry for it," cries Slipslop, "and, if I had
known you would have punished the poor lad so severely, you should never
have heard a particle of the matter. Here's a fuss indeed about
nothing!" "Nothing!" returned my lady; "do you think I will countenance
lewdness in my house?" "If you will turn away every footman," said
Slipslop, "that is a lover of the sport, you must soon open the coach
door yourself, or get a set of mophrodites to wait upon you; and I am
sure I hated the sight of them even singing in an opera." "Do as I bid
you," says my lady, "and don't shock my ears with your beastly
language." "Marry-come-up," cries Slipslop, "people's ears are sometimes
the nicest part about them."
The lady, who began to admire the new style in which her
waiting-gentlewoman delivered herself, and by the conclusion of her
speech suspected somewhat of the truth, called her back, and desired to
know what she meant by the extraordinary degree of freedom in which she
thought proper to indulge her tongue. "Freedom!" says Slipslop; "I don't
know what you call freedom, madam; servants have tongues as well as
their mistresses." "Yes, and saucy ones too," answered the lady; "but I
assure you I shall bear no such impertinence." "Impertinence! I don't
know that I am impertinent," says Slipslop. "Yes, indeed you are," cries
my lady, "and, unless you mend your manners, this house is no place for
you." "Manners!" cries Slipslop; "I never was thought to want manners
nor modesty neither; and for places, there are more places than one; and
I know what I know." "What do you know, mistress?" answered the lady. "I
am not obliged to tell that to everybody," says Slipslop, "any more than
I am obliged to keep it a secret." "I desire you would provide
yourself," answered the lady. "With all my heart," replied the
waiting-gentlewoman; and so departed in a passion, and slapped the door
after her.
The lady too plainly perceived that her waiting-gentlewoman knew more
than she would willingly have had her acquainted with; and this she
imputed to Joseph's having discovered to her what passed at the first
interview. This, therefore, blew up her rage against him, and confirmed
her in a resolution of parting with him.
But the dismissing Mrs Slipslop was a point not so easily to be resolved
upon. She had the utmost tenderness for her reputation, as she knew on
that depended many of the most valuable blessings of life; particularly
cards, making curtsies in public places, and, above all, the pleasure of
demolishing the reputations of others, in which innocent amusement she
had an extraordinary delight. She therefore determined to submit to any
insult from a servant, rather than run a risque of losing the title to
so many great privileges.
She therefore sent for her steward, Mr Peter Pounce, and ordered him to
pay Joseph his wages, to strip off his livery, and to turn him out of
the house that evening.
She then called Slipslop up, and, after refreshing her spirits with a
small cordial, which she kept in her corset, she began in the
following manner:--
"Slipslop, why will you, who know my passionate temper, attempt to
provoke me by your answers? I am convinced you are an honest servant,
and should be very unwilling to part with you. I believe, likewise, you
have found me an indulgent mistress on many occasions, and have as
little reason on your side to desire a change. I can't help being
surprized, therefore, that you will take the surest method to offend
me--I mean, repeating my words, which you know I have always detested."
The prudent waiting-gentlewoman had duly weighed the whole matter, and
found, on mature deliberation, that a good place in possession was
better than one in expectation. As she found her mistress, therefore,
inclined to relent, she thought proper also to put on some small
condescension, which was as readily accepted; and so the affair was
reconciled, all offences forgiven, and a present of a gown and petticoat
made her, as an instance of her lady's future favour.
She offered once or twice to speak in favour of Joseph; but found her
lady's heart so obdurate, that she prudently dropt all such efforts. She
considered there were more footmen in the house, and some as stout
fellows, though not quite so handsome, as Joseph; besides, the reader
hath already seen her tender advances had not met with the encouragement
she might have reasonable expected. She thought she had thrown away a
great deal of sack and sweetmeats on an ungrateful rascal; and, being a
little inclined to the opinion of that female sect, who hold one lusty
young fellow to be nearly as good as another lusty young fellow, she at
last gave up Joseph and his cause, and, with a triumph over her passion
highly commendable, walked off with her present, and with great
tranquillity paid a visit to a stone-bottle, which is of sovereign use
to a philosophical temper.
She left not her mistress so easy. The poor lady could not reflect
without agony that her dear reputation was in the power of her servants.
all her comfort as to Joseph was, that she hoped he did not understand
her meaning; at least she could say for herself, she had not plainly
expressed anything to him; and as to Mrs Slipslop, she imagines she
could bribe her to secrecy.
But what hurt her most was, that in reality she had not so entirely
conquered her passion; the little god lay lurking in her heart, though
anger and distain so hood-winked her, that she could not see him. She
was a thousand times on the very brink of revoking the sentence she had
passed against the poor youth. Love became his advocate, and whispered
many things in his favour. Honour likewise endeavoured to vindicate his
crime, and Pity to mitigate his punishment. On the other side, Pride and
Revenge spoke as loudly against him. And thus the poor lady was tortured
with perplexity, opposite passions distracting and tearing her mind
different ways.
So have I seen, in the hall of Westminster, where Serjeant Bramble hath
been retained on the right side, and Serjeant Puzzle on the left, the
balance of opinion (so equal were their fees) alternately incline to
either scale. Now Bramble throws in an argument, and Puzzle's scale
strikes the beam; again Bramble shares the like fate, overpowered by the
weight of Puzzle. Here Bramble hits, there Puzzle strikes; here one has
you, there t'other has you; till at last all becomes one scene of
confusion in the tortured minds of the hearers; equal wagers are laid on
the success, and neither judge nor jury can possibly make anything of
the matter; all things are so enveloped by the careful serjeants in
doubt and obscurity.
Or, as it happens in the conscience, where honour and honesty pull one
way, and a bribe and necessity another.--If it was our present
business only to make similes, we could produce many more to this
purpose; but a simile (as well as a word) to the wise.--We shall
therefore see a little after our hero, for whom the reader is doubtless
in some pain.