The History of the Adventures of Joseph Andrews and his Friend, Mr. Abraham Abrams/Book III, Chapter VIII

CHAPTER VIII.

_Which some readers will think too short and others too long._

Adams, and Joseph, who was no less enraged than his friend at the

treatment he met with, went out with their sticks in their hands, and

carried off Fanny, notwithstanding the opposition of the servants, who

did all, without proceeding to violence, in their power to detain them.

They walked as fast as they could, not so much from any apprehension of

being pursued as that Mr Adams might, by exercise, prevent any harm from

the water. The gentleman, who had given such orders to his servants

concerning Fanny that he did not in the least fear her getting away, no

sooner heard that she was gone, than he began to rave, and immediately

despatched several with orders either to bring her back or never return.

The poet, the player, and all but the dancing-master and doctor, went on

this errand.

The night was very dark in which our friends began their journey;

however, they made such expedition, that they soon arrived at an inn

which was at seven miles' distance. Here they unanimously consented to

pass the evening, Mr Adams being now as dry as he was before he had set

out on his embassy.

This inn, which indeed we might call an ale-house, had not the words,

The New Inn, been writ on the sign, afforded them no better provision

than bread and cheese and ale; on which, however, they made a very

comfortable meal; for hunger is better than a French cook.

They had no sooner supped, than Adams, returning thanks to the Almighty

for his food, declared he had eat his homely commons with much greater

satisfaction than his splendid dinner; and expressed great contempt for

the folly of mankind, who sacrificed their hopes of heaven to the

acquisition of vast wealth, since so much comfort was to be found in the

humblest state and the lowest provision. "Very true, sir," says a grave

man who sat smoaking his pipe by the fire, and who was a traveller as

well as himself. "I have often been as much surprized as you are, when I

consider the value which mankind in general set on riches, since every

day's experience shows us how little is in their power; for what,

indeed, truly desirable, can they bestow on us? Can they give beauty to

the deformed, strength to the weak, or health to the infirm? Surely if

they could we should not see so many ill-favoured faces haunting the

assemblies of the great, nor would such numbers of feeble wretches

languish in their coaches and palaces. No, not the wealth of a kingdom

can purchase any paint to dress pale Ugliness in the bloom of that young

maiden, nor any drugs to equip Disease with the vigour of that young

man. Do not riches bring us to solicitude instead of rest, envy instead

of affection, and danger instead of safety? Can they prolong their own

possession, or lengthen his days who enjoys them? So far otherwise, that

the sloth, the luxury, the care which attend them, shorten the lives of

millions, and bring them with pain and misery to an untimely grave.

Where, then, is their value if they can neither embellish nor strengthen

our forms, sweeten nor prolong our lives?--Again: Can they adorn the

mind more than the body? Do they not rather swell the heart with vanity,

puff up the cheeks with pride, shut our ears to every call of virtue,

and our bowels to every motive of compassion?" "Give me your hand,

brother," said Adams, in a rapture, "for I suppose you are a

clergyman."--"No, truly," answered the other (indeed, he was a priest of

the Church of Rome; but those who understand our laws will not wonder he

was not over-ready to own it).--"Whatever you are," cries Adams, "you

have spoken my sentiments: I believe I have preached every syllable of

your speech twenty times over; for it hath always appeared to me easier

for a cable-rope (which by the way is the true rendering of that word we

have translated camel) to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich

man to get into the kingdom of heaven."--"That, sir," said the other,

"will be easily granted you by divines, and is deplorably true; but as

the prospect of our good at a distance doth not so forcibly affect us,

it might be of some service to mankind to be made thoroughly

sensible--which I think they might be with very little serious

attention--that even the blessings of this world are not to be purchased

with riches; a doctrine, in my opinion, not only metaphysically, but, if

I may so say, mathematically demonstrable; and which I have been always

so perfectly convinced of that I have a contempt for nothing so much as

for gold." Adams now began a long discourse: but as most which he said

occurs among many authors who have treated this subject, I shall omit

inserting it. During its continuance Joseph and Fanny retired to rest,

and the host likewise left the room. When the English parson had

concluded, the Romish resumed the discourse, which he continued with

great bitterness and invective; and at last ended by desiring Adams to

lend him eighteen-pence to pay his reckoning; promising, if he never

paid him, he might be assured of his prayers. The good man answered that

eighteen-pence would be too little to carry him any very long journey;

that he had half a guinea in his pocket, which he would divide with him.

He then fell to searching his pockets, but could find no money; for

indeed the company with whom he dined had passed one jest upon him which

we did not then enumerate, and had picked his pocket of all that

treasure which he had so ostentatiously produced.

"Bless me!" cried Adams, "I have certainly lost it; I can never have

spent it. Sir, as I am a Christian, I had a whole half-guinea in my

pocket this morning, and have not now a single halfpenny of it left.

Sure the devil must have taken it from me!"--"Sir," answered the priest,

smiling, "you need make no excuses; if you are not willing to lend me

the money, I am contented."--"Sir," cries Adams, "if I had the greatest

sum in the world--aye, if I had ten pounds about me--I would bestow it

all to rescue any Christian from distress. I am more vexed at my loss on

your account than my own. Was ever anything so unlucky? Because I have

no money in my pocket I shall be suspected to be no Christian."--"I am

more unlucky," quoth the other, "if you are as generous as you say; for

really a crown would have made me happy, and conveyed me in plenty to

the place I am going, which is not above twenty miles off, and where I

can arrive by to-morrow night. I assure you I am not accustomed to

travel pennyless. I am but just arrived in England; and we were forced

by a storm in our passage to throw all we had overboard. I don't suspect

but this fellow will take my word for the trifle I owe him; but I hate

to appear so mean as to confess myself without a shilling to such

people; for these, and indeed too many others, know little difference in

their estimation between a beggar and a thief." However, he thought he

should deal better with the host that evening than the next morning: he

therefore resolved to set out immediately, notwithstanding the darkness;

and accordingly, as soon as the host returned, he communicated to him

the situation of his affairs; upon which the host, scratching his head,

answered, "Why, I do not know, master; if it be so, and you have no

money, I must trust, I think, though I had rather always have ready

money if I could; but, marry, you look like so honest a gentleman that I

don't fear your paying me if it was twenty times as much." The priest

made no reply, but, taking leave of him and Adams as fast as he could,

not without confusion, and perhaps with some distrust of Adams's

sincerity, departed.

He was no sooner gone than the host fell a-shaking his head, and

declared, if he had suspected the fellow had no money, he would not have

drawn him a single drop of drink, saying he despaired of ever seeing his

face again, for that he looked like a confounded rogue.

"Rabbit the fellow," cries he, "I thought, by his talking so much about

riches, that he had a hundred pounds at least in his pocket." Adams chid

him for his suspicions, which, he said, were not becoming a Christian;

and then, without reflecting on his loss, or considering how he himself

should depart in the morning, he retired to a very homely bed, as his

companions had before; however, health and fatigue gave them a sweeter

repose than is often in the power of velvet and down to bestow.