At the very beginning of Joseph Andrews, in Book 1, Chapter 1, Fielding makes his case for telling the story of Andrews. In the following passage, he uses a pair of allusions to classical biographers to help justify his work:
In this Light I have always regarded those Biographers who have recorded the Actions of great and worthy Persons of both Sexes. Not to mention those antient Writers which of late days are little read, being written in obsolete, and as they are generally thought, unintelligible Languages; such as Plutarch, Nepos, and others which I heard of in my Youth, our own Language afford many of excellent Use and instruction, finely calculated to sow the Seeds of Virtue in Youth, and very easy to be comprehended by Persons of moderate Capacity.
Both Plutarch and Cornelius Nepos were important writers in the classical world and were most famous for their biographies. Plutarch, who lived in the first century CE, wrote Parallel Lives, which consists of intertwined biographies of Greek and Roman notables. Nepos, who lived in the first century BCE, is likewise famous for his own work of intertwined biographies of famous Romans and assorted foreigners.
In this passage, Fielding contextualizes his effort to deliver a fictional biography of Joseph Andrews in the ethics- and virtue-minded philosophy and biography that has come before, with the works of Plutarch and Nepos as prime examples—the classical period, by the time of Fielding's writing, was generally exalted for its literary innovations. Fittingly for Fielding's sarcastic tone and flippancy, there’s also a bit of satire and a backhanded insult to the reader in this passage: the precedent for Fielding’s project, as a fictional counterpart to these biographies, makes the subject “very easy to be comprehended by persons of moderate Capacity”—meaning the readers.
Throughout the novel, Fielding presents the fictional story of Andrews's life as though Andrews was a real, historical figure. In the opening pages of the novel, Fielding legitimizes his efforts—and doubles down on his claim to historical veracity—through allusions such as these.
In Book 1, Chapter 2 of Joseph Andrews, Fielding introduces the reader to Joseph Andrews himself in terms of the character's (unknown) ancestry. Through classical allusion, Fielding playfully justifies the daunting task of writing the biography for someone without a clear lineage:
But suppose for Argument’s sake we should admit that he had no Ancestors at all, but had sprung up, according to the modern Phrase, out of a Dunghill, as the Athenians pretended they themselves did from the Earth, would not this Autokopros have been justly entitled to all the Praise arising from his own Virtues?
In classical Greece, the people of Athens claimed to be the "first people," or the original humans that the gods had sprung from the earth itself—who were thereby fit to rule the Mediterranean world. If the Athenians could get away with ruling without bothering to establish their ancestry, Fielding argues, then he can get away with writing a biography about Joseph Andrews without bothering to establish Andrews' ancestry: a man should be judged on his inherent virtue, not his family tree. In making this case, Fielding plays on the Greek term, autochtones, for this "first-born" status and announces Andrews as an "Autokopros"—literally "one sprung out of a Dunghill," or pile of excrement.
This passage is a wonderful example of Fielding's ability to weave together levity and profundity. While the case may be particularly low-stakes, given that Joseph Andrews is a fictional character and Fielding could invent any sort of background for him, nested within Fielding's banter is a genuine appeal to Christian morality and the importance of individual agency.
In Book 1 of Joseph Andrews, Lady Booby finds herself succumbing to her passions for Joseph Andrews. Fielding presents Booby's battle with her emotions using a metaphorical allusion to Cupid and his famous arrows. In Book 1, Chapter 7, Cupid takes aim at Booby:
Slipslop, who knew the Violence of her Lady’s Temper, and would not venture her Place for any Adonis or Hercules in the Universe, left her a third time; which she had no sooner done, than the little God Cupid, fearing he had not yet done the Lady’s Business, took a fresh Arrow with the sharpest Point out of his Quiver, and shot it directly into her Heart: in other and plainer Language, the Lady’s Passion got the better of her Reason.
As Fielding does throughout the novel, this passage sees him explaining a phenomenon in metaphorical, classical language and then offering a parallel explanation in plain speech: when he writes that Cupid has struck Booby with his arrow, he means that she has succumbed to her passion—that it has "got the better of her Reason." The battle between sinful lust and virtuous, chaste love wages throughout Joseph Andrews, and here Fielding literalizes the conflict in terms of Cupid's aggressive agenda. Booby continues to struggle with her lustful passion for Andrews—which is to say, Cupid continues to exert his influence over her—through the rest of novel. A few pages later, in Book 1, Chapter 9, Fielding reminds the reader of her struggle:
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, tho’ Anger and Disdain so hood-winked her, that she could not see him.
Cupid—the "little God"—has successfully co-opted Booby’s heart and has hidden his own influence in Booby's passion. Fielding's portrayal of lust treats it as something external—something fallen into, something that one is "struck with"—in order to contrast it with a virtuous love that comes from within.
As Book 1, Chapter 8 begins, Fielding pats himself on the back for some "very fine Writing" to come—a playful account of nightfall that Fielding lays out in an intentionally overwrought parody of Greek poetry:
In which, after some very fine Writing, the History goes on […].
Now the Rake Hesperus had called for his Breeches, and having well rubbed his drowsy Eyes, prepared to dress himself for all Night; by whose Example his Brother Rakes on Earth likewise leave those Beds, in which they had slept away the Day. Now Thetis the good Housewife began to put on the Pot in order to regale the good Man Phæbus, after his daily Labours were over.
This parody makes heavy allusion to the classical gods and stylistic conventions of epic poetry. Fielding personifies all heavenly attributes and celestial bodies according to their respective Greek or Roman gods, and he portrays the process of night’s arrival in the metaphorical language of these personified deities—it does not just "get dark," but rather Hesperus—the evening star—must get ready for bed, and Thetis must welcome "Phæbus"—or Apollo, the sun—back from a long day's work.
Throughout Joseph Andrews, Fielding nods to his command of literature through allusions to high classical style, while also taking the opportunity to satirize such ritual and archaic uses of language—which, at the time of his writing, were in vogue to employ in English literature.
In Book 1 of Joseph Andrews, Lady Booby finds herself succumbing to her passions for Joseph Andrews. Fielding presents Booby's battle with her emotions using a metaphorical allusion to Cupid and his famous arrows. In Book 1, Chapter 7, Cupid takes aim at Booby:
Slipslop, who knew the Violence of her Lady’s Temper, and would not venture her Place for any Adonis or Hercules in the Universe, left her a third time; which she had no sooner done, than the little God Cupid, fearing he had not yet done the Lady’s Business, took a fresh Arrow with the sharpest Point out of his Quiver, and shot it directly into her Heart: in other and plainer Language, the Lady’s Passion got the better of her Reason.
As Fielding does throughout the novel, this passage sees him explaining a phenomenon in metaphorical, classical language and then offering a parallel explanation in plain speech: when he writes that Cupid has struck Booby with his arrow, he means that she has succumbed to her passion—that it has "got the better of her Reason." The battle between sinful lust and virtuous, chaste love wages throughout Joseph Andrews, and here Fielding literalizes the conflict in terms of Cupid's aggressive agenda. Booby continues to struggle with her lustful passion for Andrews—which is to say, Cupid continues to exert his influence over her—through the rest of novel. A few pages later, in Book 1, Chapter 9, Fielding reminds the reader of her struggle:
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, tho’ Anger and Disdain so hood-winked her, that she could not see him.
Cupid—the "little God"—has successfully co-opted Booby’s heart and has hidden his own influence in Booby's passion. Fielding's portrayal of lust treats it as something external—something fallen into, something that one is "struck with"—in order to contrast it with a virtuous love that comes from within.
In Book 1, Chapter 12, Fielding announces the arrival of dawn in elaborate language laden with literary devices. In particular, he relies on allusion and the imagery of music to celebrate daybreak:
Aurora now began to shew her blooming Cheeks over the Hills, whilst ten Millions of feathered Songsters, in jocund Chorus, repeated Odes a thousand times sweeter than those of our Laureate, and sung both the Day and the Song; when the Master of the Inn, Mr Tow-wouse, arose, and learning from his Maid an Account of the Robbery, and the Situation of his poor naked Guest, he shook his Head, and cried, Good-lack-a-day! And then ordered the Girl to carry him one of his own Shirts.
This section is a prime example of Fielding's fanciful neoclassical language that he periodically employs for dramatic effect throughout the novel. The style is marked by overwrought classical allusion, as with the announcement of dawn in mock-epic fashion—that is, deliberately mimicking the personification of dawn (Aurora) in the manner of classical epic poetry. In invoking a massive flock of songbirds singing in the sun, Fielding gives his passage further heft through the imagery of a musical fanfare. Emphasizing the splendor of the moment, Fielding also makes a backhanded allusion (and insult) to the apparently awful Odes of the poet Cibber, then poet laureate of England, which he had composed for various celebrations throughout the country.
This passage exemplifies many of Fielding's trademark literary techniques employed throughout Joseph Andrews: his allegiance to classical reference, his playful emulation of high style, and his constant reference to contemporary literature (good and bad).
Throughout Joseph Andrews, in various times of crisis, Abraham Adams turns to his trusted copy of Aeschylus for wisdom. This may be because, though he claims to be a well-rounded, well-educated man, he has only really read Aeschylus. In Book 2, Chapter 7, he gets lost in the woods—and sure enough, Fielding signals Adams's helplessness to the reader through continuing this allusion to the legendary Greek playwright:
This Track however did he keep, as indeed he had a wonderful Capacity at these kinds of bare Possibilities; and travelling in it about three Miles over the Plain, he arrived at the Summit of a Hill, whence looking a great way backwards, and perceiving no Coach in sight, he sat himself down on the Turf, and pulling out his Æschylus determined to wait here for its Arrival.
Until he makes the mistake of setting it on fire, this book of Aeschylus is Adams's most trusted travel companion through the novel. Here, Fielding's allusion to Aeschylus—and Adams's decision to read it when lost in the woods—reveals a certain hypocrisy in Adams's character: there is great tension between Adams's claims to erudition, as a supposed devotee of great literature, and his ultimate helplessness in real world problems. He is just the kind of person who would turn to a Greek tragedian for help while lost in the woods.
In Book 4, Chapter 15, Lady Booby awaits Joseph Andrews and Fanny, now his wife—the couple have just learned that they may be siblings, and the three are nervously waiting to hear whether they are actually related, and to determine if they will remain a couple and, critically, whether they will choose to be chaste. Fielding conveys the intensity of the group's nerves through allusion and hyperbole:
Their Tea was scarce over, when News came of the Arrival of old Mr Andrews and his Wife. They were immediately introduced and kindly received by the Lady Booby, whose Heart went now pit-a-pat, as did those of Joseph and Fanny. They felt perhaps little less Anxiety in this Interval than Œdipus himself whilst his Fate was revealing.
By Fielding's account, Booby, Andrews, and Fanny are as nervous as Oedipus while "his Fate was revealing": this is an allusion to the scene from the Greek playwright Sophocles's tragedy Oedipus Rex when Oedipus, the protagonist of the play, awaits news from a herdsman that he has unwittingly killed his father and married his mother. Oedipus Rex is the archetypal story of incestuous love and lost virtue, and therefore the perfect reference to intensify this moment in Joseph Andrews when its main characters await judgment as to whether their own relationship has been incestuous.
