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The History of Tom Jones, a foundling

H >> Henry Fielding >> The History of Tom Jones, a foundling




Every profession of friendship easily gains credit with the miserable;
it is no wonder therefore, if Jones, who, besides his being miserable,
was extremely open-hearted, very readily believed all the professions
of Benjamin, and received him into his bosom. The scraps of Latin,
some of which Benjamin applied properly enough, though it did not
savour of profound literature, seemed yet to indicate something
superior to a common barber; and so indeed did his whole behaviour.
Jones therefore believed the truth of what he had said, as to his
original and education; and at length, after much entreaty, he said,
"Since you have heard, my friend, so much of my affairs, and seem so
desirous to know the truth, if you will have patience to hear it, I
will inform you of the whole."--"Patience!" cries Benjamin, "that I
will, if the chapter was never so long; and I am very much obliged to
you for the honour you do me."

Jones now began, and related the whole history, forgetting only a
circumstance or two, namely, everything which passed on that day in
which he had fought with Thwackum; and ended with his resolution to go
to sea, till the rebellion in the North had made him change his
purpose, and had brought him to the place where he then was.

Little Benjamin, who had been all attention, never once interrupted
the narrative; but when it was ended he could not help observing, that
there must be surely something more invented by his enemies, and told
Mr Allworthy against him, or so good a man would never have dismissed
one he had loved so tenderly, in such a manner. To which Jones
answered, "He doubted not but such villanous arts had been made use of
to destroy him."

And surely it was scarce possible for any one to have avoided making
the same remark with the barber, who had not indeed heard from Jones
one single circumstance upon which he was condemned; for his actions
were not now placed in those injurious lights in which they had been
misrepresented to Allworthy; nor could he mention those many false
accusations which had been from time to time preferred against him to
Allworthy: for with none of these he was himself acquainted. He had
likewise, as we have observed, omitted many material facts in his
present relation. Upon the whole, indeed, everything now appeared in
such favourable colours to Jones, that malice itself would have found
it no easy matter to fix any blame upon him.

Not that Jones desired to conceal or to disguise the truth; nay, he
would have been more unwilling to have suffered any censure to fall on
Mr Allworthy for punishing him, than on his own actions for deserving
it; but, in reality, so it happened, and so it always will happen; for
let a man be never so honest, the account of his own conduct will, in
spite of himself, be so very favourable, that his vices will come
purified through his lips, and, like foul liquors well strained, will
leave all their foulness behind. For though the facts themselves may
appear, yet so different will be the motives, circumstances, and
consequences, when a man tells his own story, and when his enemy tells
it, that we scarce can recognise the facts to be one and the same.

Though the barber had drank down this story with greedy ears, he was
not yet satisfied. There was a circumstance behind which his
curiosity, cold as it was, most eagerly longed for. Jones had
mentioned the fact of his amour, and of his being the rival of Blifil,
but had cautiously concealed the name of the young lady. The barber,
therefore, after some hesitation, and many hums and hahs, at last
begged leave to crave the name of the lady, who appeared to be the
principal cause of all this mischief. Jones paused a moment, and then
said, "Since I have trusted you with so much, and since, I am afraid,
her name is become too publick already on this occasion, I will not
conceal it from you. Her name is Sophia Western."

"_Proh deum atque hominum fidem_! Squire Western hath a daughter grown
a woman!"--"Ay, and such a woman," cries Jones, "that the world cannot
match. No eye ever saw anything so beautiful; but that is her least
excellence. Such sense! such goodness! Oh, I could praise her for
ever, and yet should omit half her virtues!"--"Mr Western a daughter
grown up!" cries the barber: "I remember the father a boy; well,
_Tempus edax rerum_."

The wine being now at an end, the barber pressed very eagerly to be
his bottle; but Jones absolutely refused, saying, "He had already
drank more than he ought: and that he now chose to retire to his room,
where he wished he could procure himself a book."--"A book!" cries
Benjamin; "what book would you have? Latin or English? I have some
curious books in both languages; such as _Erasmi Colloquia, Ovid de
Tristibus, Gradus ad Parnassum;_ and in English I have several of the
best books, though some of them are a little torn; but I have a great
part of Stowe's Chronicle; the sixth volume of Pope's Homer; the third
volume of the Spectator; the second volume of Echard's Roman History;
the Craftsman; Robinson Crusoe; Thomas a Kempis; and two volumes of
Tom Brown's Works."

"Those last," cries Jones, "are books I never saw, so if you please
lend me one of those volumes." The barber assured him he would be
highly entertained, for he looked upon the author to have been one of
the greatest wits that ever the nation produced. He then stepped to
his house, which was hard by, and immediately returned; after which,
the barber having received very strict injunctions of secrecy from
Jones, and having sworn inviolably to maintain it, they separated; the
barber went home, and Jones retired to his chamber.



Chapter vi.

In which more of the talents of Mr Benjamin will appear, as well as
who this extraordinary person was.


In the morning Jones grew a little uneasy at the desertion of his
surgeon, as he apprehended some inconvenience, or even danger, might
attend the not dressing his wound; he enquired of the drawer, what
other surgeons were to be met with in that neighbourhood. The drawer
told him, there was one not far off; but he had known him often refuse
to be concerned after another had been sent before him; "but, sir,"
says he, "if you will take my advice, there is not a man in the
kingdom can do your business better than the barber who was with you
last night. We look upon him to be one of the ablest men at a cut in
all this neighbourhood. For though he hath not been her above three
months, he hath done several great cures."

The drawer was presently dispatched for Little Benjamin, who being
acquainted in what capacity he was wanted, prepared himself
accordingly, and attended; but with so different an air and aspect
from that which he wore when his basin was under his arm, that he
could scarce be known to be the same person.

"So, tonsor," says Jones, "I find you have more trades than one; how
came you not to inform me of this last night?"--"A surgeon," answered
Benjamin, with great gravity, "is a profession, not a trade. The
reason why I did not acquaint you last night that I professed this
art, was, that I then concluded you was under the hands of another
gentleman, and I never love to interfere with my brethren in their
business. _Ars omnibus communis_. But now, sir, if you please, I will
inspect your head, and when I see into your skull, I will give my
opinion of your case."

Jones had no great faith in this new professor; however, he suffered
him to open the bandage and to look at his wound; which as soon as he
had done, Benjamin began to groan and shake his head violently. Upon
which Jones, in a peevish manner, bid him not play the fool, but tell
him in what condition he found him. "Shall I answer you as a surgeon,
or a friend?" said Benjamin. "As a friend, and seriously," said Jones.
"Why then, upon my soul," cries Benjamin, "it would require a great
deal of art to keep you from being well after a very few dressings;
and if you will suffer me to apply some salve of mine, I will answer
for the success." Jones gave his consent, and the plaister was applied
accordingly.

"There, sir," cries Benjamin: "now I will, if you please, resume my
former self; but a man is obliged to keep up some dignity in his
countenance whilst he is performing these operations, or the world
will not submit to be handled by him. You can't imagine, sir, of how
much consequence a grave aspect is to a grave character. A barber may
make you laugh, but a surgeon ought rather to make you cry."

"Mr Barber, or Mr Surgeon, or Mr Barber-surgeon," said Jones. "O dear
sir!" answered Benjamin, interrupting him, "_Infandum, regina, jubes
renovare dolorem_. You recall to my mind that cruel separation of the
united fraternities, so much to the prejudice of both bodies, as all
separations must be, according to the old adage, _Vis unita fortior_;
which to be sure there are not wanting some of one or of the other
fraternity who are able to construe. What a blow was this to me, who
unite both in my own person!" "Well, by whatever name you please to be
called," continued Jones, "you certainly are one of the oddest, most
comical fellows I ever met with, and must have something very
surprizing in your story, which you must confess I have a right to
hear."--"I do confess it," answered Benjamin, "and will very readily
acquaint you with it, when you have sufficient leisure, for I promise
you it will require a good deal of time." Jones told him, he could
never be more at leisure than at present. "Well, then," said Benjamin,
"I will obey you; but first I will fasten the door, that none may
interrupt us." He did so, and then advancing with a solemn air to
Jones, said: "I must begin by telling you, sir, that you yourself have
been the greatest enemy I ever had." Jones was a little startled at
this sudden declaration. "I your enemy, sir!" says he, with much
amazement, and some sternness in his look. "Nay, be not angry," said
Benjamin, "for I promise you I am not. You are perfectly innocent of
having intended me any wrong; for you was then an infant: but I shall,
I believe, unriddle all this the moment I mention my name. Did you
never hear, sir, of one Partridge, who had the honour of being reputed
your father, and the misfortune of being ruined by that honour?" "I
have, indeed, heard of that Partridge," says Jones, "and have always
believed myself to be his son." "Well, sir," answered Benjamin, "I am
that Partridge; but I here absolve you from all filial duty, for I do
assure you, you are no son of mine." "How!" replied Jones, "and is it
possible that a false suspicion should have drawn all the ill
consequences upon you, with which I am too well acquainted?" "It is
possible," cries Benjamin, "for it is so: but though it is natural
enough for men to hate even the innocent causes of their sufferings,
yet I am of a different temper. I have loved you ever since I heard of
your behaviour to Black George, as I told you; and I am convinced,
from this extraordinary meeting, that you are born to make me amends
for all I have suffered on that account. Besides, I dreamt, the night
before I saw you, that I stumbled over a stool without hurting myself;
which plainly showed me something good was towards me: and last night
I dreamt again, that I rode behind you on a milk-white mare, which is
a very excellent dream, and betokens much good fortune, which I am
resolved to pursue unless you have the cruelty to deny me."

"I should be very glad, Mr Partridge," answered Jones, "to have it in
my power to make you amends for your sufferings on my account, though
at present I see no likelihood of it; however, I assure you I will
deny you nothing which is in my power to grant."

"It is in your power sure enough," replied Benjamin; "for I desire
nothing more than leave to attend you in this expedition. Nay, I have
so entirely set my heart upon it, that if you should refuse me, you
will kill both a barber and a surgeon in one breath."

Jones answered, smiling, that he should be very sorry to be the
occasion of so much mischief to the public. He then advanced many
prudential reasons, in order to dissuade Benjamin (whom we shall
hereafter call Partridge) from his purpose; but all were in vain.
Partridge relied strongly on his dream of the milk-white mare.
"Besides, sir," says he, "I promise you I have as good an inclination
to the cause as any man can possibly have; and go I will, whether you
admit me to go in your company or not."

Jones, who was as much pleased with Partridge as Partridge could be
with him, and who had not consulted his own inclination but the good
of the other in desiring him to stay behind, when he found his friend
so resolute, at last gave his consent; but then recollecting himself,
he said, "Perhaps, Mr Partridge, you think I shall be able to support
you, but I really am not;" and then taking out his purse, he told out
nine guineas, which he declared were his whole fortune.

Partridge answered, "That his dependence was only on his future
favour; for he was thoroughly convinced he would shortly have enough
in his power. At present, sir," said he, "I believe I am rather the
richer man of the two; but all I have is at your service, and at your
disposal. I insist upon your taking the whole, and I beg only to
attend you in the quality of your servant; _Nil desperandum est Teucro
duce et auspice Teucro_": but to this generous proposal concerning the
money, Jones would by no means submit.

It was resolved to set out the next morning, when a difficulty arose
concerning the baggage; for the portmanteau of Mr Jones was too large
to be carried without a horse.

"If I may presume to give my advice," says Partridge, "this
portmanteau, with everything in it, except a few shirts, should be
left behind. Those I shall be easily able to carry for you, and the
rest of your cloaths will remain very safe locked up in my house."

This method was no sooner proposed than agreed to; and then the barber
departed, in order to prepare everything for his intended expedition.



Chapter vii.

Containing better reasons than any which have yet appeared for the
conduct of Partridge; an apology for the weakness of Jones; and some
further anecdotes concerning my landlady.


Though Partridge was one of the most superstitious of men, he would
hardly perhaps have desired to accompany Jones on his expedition
merely from the omens of the joint-stool and white mare, if his
prospect had been no better than to have shared the plunder gained in
the field of battle. In fact, when Partridge came to ruminate on the
relation he had heard from Jones, he could not reconcile to himself
that Mr Allworthy should turn his son (for so he most firmly believed
him to be) out of doors, for any reason which he had heard assigned.
He concluded, therefore, that the whole was a fiction, and that Jones,
of whom he had often from his correspondents heard the wildest
character, had in reality run away from his father. It came into his
head, therefore, that if he could prevail with the young gentleman to
return back to his father, he should by that means render a service to
Allworthy, which would obliterate all his former anger; nay, indeed,
he conceived that very anger was counterfeited, and that Allworthy had
sacrificed him to his own reputation. And this suspicion indeed he
well accounted for, from the tender behaviour of that excellent man to
the foundling child; from his great severity to Partridge, who,
knowing himself to be innocent, could not conceive that any other
should think him guilty; lastly, from the allowance which he had
privately received long after the annuity had been publickly taken
from him, and which he looked upon as a kind of smart-money, or rather
by way of atonement for injustice; for it is very uncommon, I believe,
for men to ascribe the benefactions they receive to pure charity, when
they can possibly impute them to any other motive. If he could by any
means therefore persuade the young gentleman to return home, he
doubted not but that he should again be received into the favour of
Allworthy, and well rewarded for his pains; nay, and should be again
restored to his native country; a restoration which Ulysses himself
never wished more heartily than poor Partridge.

As for Jones, he was well satisfied with the truth of what the other
had asserted, and believed that Partridge had no other inducements but
love to him, and zeal for the cause; a blameable want of caution and
diffidence in the veracity of others, in which he was highly worthy of
censure. To say the truth, there are but two ways by which men become
possessed of this excellent quality. The one is from long experience,
and the other is from nature; which last, I presume, is often meant by
genius, or great natural parts; and it is infinitely the better of the
two, not only as we are masters of it much earlier in life, but as it
is much more infallible and conclusive; for a man who hath been
imposed on by ever so many, may still hope to find others more honest;
whereas he who receives certain necessary admonitions from within,
that this is impossible, must have very little understanding indeed,
if he ever renders himself liable to be once deceived. As Jones had
not this gift from nature, he was too young to have gained it by
experience; for at the diffident wisdom which is to be acquired this
way, we seldom arrive till very late in life; which is perhaps the
reason why some old men are apt to despise the understandings of all
those who are a little younger than themselves.

Jones spent most part of the day in the company of a new acquaintance.
This was no other than the landlord of the house, or rather the
husband of the landlady. He had but lately made his descent
downstairs, after a long fit of the gout, in which distemper he was
generally confined to his room during one half of the year; and during
the rest, he walked about the house, smoaked his pipe, and drank his
bottle with his friends, without concerning himself in the least with
any kind of business. He had been bred, as they call it, a gentleman;
that is, bred up to do nothing; and had spent a very small fortune,
which he inherited from an industrious farmer his uncle, in hunting,
horse-racing, and cock-fighting, and had been married by my landlady
for certain purposes, which he had long since desisted from answering;
for which she hated him heartily. But as he was a surly kind of
fellow, so she contented herself with frequently upbraiding him by
disadvantageous comparisons with her first husband, whose praise she
had eternally in her mouth; and as she was for the most part mistress
of the profit, so she was satisfied to take upon herself the care and
government of the family, and, after a long successless struggle, to
suffer her husband to be master of himself.

In the evening, when Jones retired to his room, a small dispute arose
between this fond couple concerning him:--"What," says the wife, "you
have been tippling with the gentleman, I see?"--"Yes," answered the
husband, "we have cracked a bottle together, and a very gentlemanlike
man he is, and hath a very pretty notion of horse-flesh. Indeed, he is
young, and hath not seen much of the world; for I believe he hath been
at very few horse-races."--"Oho! he is one of your order, is he?"
replies the landlady: "he must be a gentleman to be sure, if he is a
horse-racer. The devil fetch such gentry! I am sure I wish I had never
seen any of them. I have reason to love horse-racers truly!"--"That
you have," says the husband; "for I was one, you know."--"Yes,"
answered she, "you are a pure one indeed. As my first husband used to
say, I may put all the good I have ever got by you in my eyes, and see
never the worse."--"D--n your first husband!" cries he. "Don't d--n a
better man than yourself," answered the wife: "if he had been alive,
you durst not have done it."--"Then you think," says he, "I have not
so much courage as yourself; for you have d--n'd him often in my
hearing."--"If I did," says she, "I have repented of it many's the
good time and oft. And if he was so good to forgive me a word spoken
in haste or so, it doth not become such a one as you to twitter me. He
was a husband to me, he was; and if ever I did make use of an ill word
or so in a passion, I never called him rascal; I should have told a
lie, if I had called him rascal." Much more she said, but not in his
hearing; for having lighted his pipe, he staggered off as fast as he
could. We shall therefore transcribe no more of her speech, as it
approached still nearer and nearer to a subject too indelicate to find
any place in this history.

Early in the morning Partridge appeared at the bedside of Jones, ready
equipped for the journey, with his knapsack at his back. This was his
own workmanship; for besides his other trades, he was no indifferent
taylor. He had already put up his whole stock of linen in it,
consisting of four shirts, to which he now added eight for Mr Jones;
and then packing up the portmanteau, he was departing with it towards
his own house, but was stopt in his way by the landlady, who refused
to suffer any removals till after the payment of the reckoning.

The landlady was, as we have said, absolute governess in these
regions; it was therefore necessary to comply with her rules; so the
bill was presently writ out, which amounted to a much larger sum than
might have been expected, from the entertainment which Jones had met
with. But here we are obliged to disclose some maxims, which publicans
hold to be the grand mysteries of their trade. The first is, If they
have anything good in their house (which indeed very seldom happens)
to produce it only to persons who travel with great equipages. 2dly,
To charge the same for the very worst provisions, as if they were the
best. And lastly, If any of their guests call but for little, to make
them pay a double price for everything they have; so that the amount
by the head may be much the same.

The bill being made and discharged, Jones set forward with Partridge,
carrying his knapsack; nor did the landlady condescend to wish him a
good journey; for this was, it seems, an inn frequented by people of
fashion; and I know not whence it is, but all those who get their
livelihood by people of fashion, contract as much insolence to the
rest of mankind, as if they really belonged to that rank themselves.



Chapter viii.

Jones arrives at Gloucester, and goes to the Bell; the character of
that house, and of a petty-fogger which he there meets with.


Mr Jones and Partridge, or Little Benjamin (which epithet of Little
was perhaps given him ironically, he being in reality near six feet
high), having left their last quarters in the manner before described,
travelled on to Gloucester without meeting any adventure worth
relating.

Being arrived here, they chose for their house of entertainment the
sign of the Bell, an excellent house indeed, and which I do most
seriously recommend to every reader who shall visit this antient city.
The master of it is brother to the great preacher Whitefield; but is
absolutely untainted with the pernicious principles of Methodism, or
of any other heretical sect. He is indeed a very honest plain man,
and, in my opinion, not likely to create any disturbance either in
church or state. His wife hath, I believe, had much pretension to
beauty, and is still a very fine woman. Her person and deportment
might have made a shining figure in the politest assemblies; but
though she must be conscious of this and many other perfections, she
seems perfectly contented with, and resigned to, that state of life to
which she is called; and this resignation is entirely owing to the
prudence and wisdom of her temper; for she is at present as free from
any Methodistical notions as her husband: I say at present; for she
freely confesses that her brother's documents made at first some
impression upon her, and that she had put herself to the expense of a
long hood, in order to attend the extraordinary emotions of the
Spirit; but having found, during an experiment of three weeks, no
emotions, she says, worth a farthing, she very wisely laid by her
hood, and abandoned the sect. To be concise, she is a very friendly
good-natured woman; and so industrious to oblige, that the guests must
be of a very morose disposition who are not extremely well satisfied
in her house.

Mrs Whitefield happened to be in the yard when Jones and his attendant
marched in. Her sagacity soon discovered in the air of our heroe
something which distinguished him from the vulgar. She ordered her
servants, therefore, immediately to show him into a room, and
presently afterwards invited him to dinner with herself; which
invitation he very thankfully accepted; for indeed much less agreeable
company than that of Mrs Whitefield, and a much worse entertainment
than she had provided, would have been welcome after so long fasting
and so long a walk.

Besides Mr Jones and the good governess of the mansion, there sat down
at table an attorney of Salisbury, indeed the very same who had
brought the news of Mrs Blifil's death to Mr Allworthy, and whose
name, which I think we did not before mention, was Dowling: there was
likewise present another person, who stiled himself a lawyer, and who
lived somewhere near Linlinch, in Somersetshire. This fellow, I say,
stiled himself a lawyer, but was indeed a most vile petty-fogger,
without sense or knowledge of any kind; one of those who may be termed
train-bearers to the law; a sort of supernumeraries in the profession,
who are the hackneys of attorneys, and will ride more miles for
half-a-crown than a postboy.

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