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

CHAPTER XI.

_Containing the exhortations of parson Adams to his friend in

affliction; calculated for the instruction and improvement of the

reader._

Joseph no sooner came perfectly to himself than, perceiving his mistress

gone, he bewailed her loss with groans which would have pierced any

heart but those which are possessed by some people, and are made of a

certain composition not unlike flint in its hardness and other

properties; for you may strike fire from them, which will dart through

the eyes, but they can never distil one drop of water the same way. His

own, poor youth! was of a softer composition; and at those words, "O my

dear Fanny! O my love! shall I never, never see thee more?" his eyes

overflowed with tears, which would have become any but a hero. In a

word, his despair was more easy to be conceived than related.

Mr Adams, after many groans, sitting with his back to Joseph, began thus

in a sorrowful tone: "You cannot imagine, my good child, that I entirely

blame these first agonies of your grief; for, when misfortunes attack us

by surprize, it must require infinitely more learning than you are

master of to resist them; but it is the business of a man and a

Christian to summon Reason as quickly as he can to his aid; and she will

presently teach him patience and submission. Be comforted, therefore,

child; I say be comforted. It is true, you have lost the prettiest,

kindest, loveliest, sweetest young woman, one with whom you might have

expected to have lived in happiness, virtue, and innocence; by whom you

might have promised yourself many little darlings, who would have been

the delight of your youth and the comfort of your age. You have not only

lost her, but have reason to fear the utmost violence which lust and

power can inflict upon her. Now, indeed, you may easily raise ideas of

horror, which might drive you to despair."--"O I shall run mad!" cries

Joseph. "O that I could but command my hands to tear my eyes out and my

flesh off!"--"If you would use them to such purposes, I am glad you

can't," answered Adams. "I have stated your misfortune as strong as I

possibly can; but, on the other side, you are to consider you are a

Christian, that no accident happens to us without the Divine permission,

and that it is the duty of a man, and a Christian, to submit. We did not

make ourselves; but the same power which made us rules over us, and we

are absolutely at his disposal; he may do with us what he pleases, nor

have we any right to complain. A second reason against our complaint is

our ignorance; for, as we know not future events, so neither can we tell

to what purpose any accident tends; and that which at first threatens us

with evil may in the end produce our good. I should indeed have said our

ignorance is twofold (but I have not at present time to divide

properly), for, as we know not to what purpose any event is ultimately

directed, so neither can we affirm from what cause it originally sprung.

You are a man, and consequently a sinner; and this may be a punishment

to you for your sins: indeed in this sense it may be esteemed as a good,

yea, as the greatest good, which satisfies the anger of Heaven, and

averts that wrath which cannot continue without our destruction.

Thirdly, our impotency of relieving ourselves demonstrates the folly and

absurdity of our complaints: for whom do we resist, or against whom do

we complain, but a power from whose shafts no armour can guard us, no

speed can fly?--a power which leaves us no hope but in submission." "O

sir!" cried Joseph, "all this is very true, and very fine, and I could

hear you all day if I was not so grieved at heart as now I am."--"Would

you take physic," says Adams, "when you are well, and refuse it when you

are sick? Is not comfort to be administered to the afflicted, and not to

those who rejoice or those who are at ease?" "O! you have not spoken one

word of comfort to me yet!" returned Joseph. "No!" cries Adams; "what am

I then doing? what can I say to comfort you?" "O tell me," cries Joseph,

"that Fanny will escape back to my arms, that they shall again enclose

that lovely creature, with all her sweetness, all her untainted

innocence about her!" "Why, perhaps you may," cries Adams, "but I can't

promise you what's to come. You must, with perfect resignation, wait the

event: if she be restored to you again, it is your duty to be thankful,

and so it is if she be not. Joseph, if you are wise and truly know your

own interest, you will peaceably and quietly submit to all the

dispensations of Providence, being thoroughly assured that all the

misfortunes, how great soever, which happen to the righteous, happen to

them for their own good. Nay, it is not your interest only, but your

duty, to abstain from immoderate grief; which if you indulge, you are

not worthy the name of a Christian." He spoke these last words with an

accent a little severer than usual; upon which Joseph begged him not to

be angry, saying, he mistook him if he thought he denied it was his

duty, for he had known that long ago. "What signifies knowing your duty,

if you do not perform it?" answered Adams. "Your knowledge increases

your guilt. O Joseph! I never thought you had this stubbornness in your

mind." Joseph replied, "He fancied he misunderstood him; which I assure

you," says he, "you do, if you imagine I endeavour to grieve; upon my

soul I don't." Adams rebuked him for swearing, and then proceeded to

enlarge on the folly of grief, telling him, all the wise men and

philosophers, even among the heathens, had written against it, quoting

several passages from Seneca, and the Consolation, which, though it was

not Cicero's, was, he said, as good almost as any of his works; and

concluded all by hinting that immoderate grief in this case might

incense that power which alone could restore him his Fanny. This reason,

or indeed rather the idea which it raised of the restoration of his

mistress, had more effect than all which the parson had said before, and

for a moment abated his agonies; but, when his fears sufficiently set

before his eyes the danger that poor creature was in, his grief returned

again with repeated violence, nor could Adams in the least asswage it;

though it may be doubted in his behalf whether Socrates himself could

have prevailed any better.

They remained some time in silence, and groans and sighs issued from

them both; at length Joseph burst out into the following soliloquy:--

"Yes, I will bear my sorrows like a man,

But I must also feel them as a man.

I cannot but remember such things were,

And were most dear to me."

Adams asked him what stuff that was he repeated? To which he answered,

they were some lines he had gotten by heart out of a play. "Ay, there is

nothing but heathenism to be learned from plays," replied he. "I never

heard of any plays fit for a Christian to read, but Cato and the

Conscious Lovers; and, I must own, in the latter there are some things

almost solemn enough for a sermon." But we shall now leave them a

little, and enquire after the subject of their conversation.