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.