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The History of Tom Jones, a foundling

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




During the time of dinner, the Somersetshire lawyer recollected the
face of Jones, which he had seen at Mr Allworthy's; for he had often
visited in that gentleman's kitchen. He therefore took occasion to
enquire after the good family there with that familiarity which would
have become an intimate friend or acquaintance of Mr Allworthy; and
indeed he did all in his power to insinuate himself to be such, though
he had never had the honour of speaking to any person in that family
higher than the butler. Jones answered all his questions with much
civility, though he never remembered to have seen the petty-fogger
before; and though he concluded, from the outward appearance and
behaviour of the man, that he usurped a freedom with his betters, to
which he was by no means intitled.

As the conversation of fellows of this kind is of all others the most
detestable to men of any sense, the cloth was no sooner removed than
Mr Jones withdrew, and a little barbarously left poor Mrs Whitefield
to do a penance, which I have often heard Mr Timothy Harris, and other
publicans of good taste, lament, as the severest lot annexed to their
calling, namely, that of being obliged to keep company with their
guests.

Jones had no sooner quitted the room, than the petty-fogger, in a
whispering tone, asked Mrs Whitefield, "If she knew who that fine
spark was?" She answered, "She had never seen the gentleman
before."--"The gentleman, indeed!" replied the petty-fogger; "a pretty
gentleman, truly! Why, he's the bastard of a fellow who was hanged for
horse-stealing. He was dropt at Squire Allworthy's door, where one of
the servants found him in a box so full of rain-water, that he would
certainly have been drowned, had he not been reserved for another
fate."--"Ay, ay, you need not mention it, I protest: we understand
what that fate is very well," cries Dowling, with a most facetious
grin.--"Well," continued the other, "the squire ordered him to be
taken in; for he is a timbersome man everybody knows, and was afraid
of drawing himself into a scrape; and there the bastard was bred up,
and fed, and cloathified all to the world like any gentleman; and
there he got one of the servant-maids with child, and persuaded her to
swear it to the squire himself; and afterwards he broke the arm of one
Mr Thwackum a clergyman, only because he reprimanded him for following
whores; and afterwards he snapt a pistol at Mr Blifil behind his back;
and once, when Squire Allworthy was sick, he got a drum, and beat it
all over the house to prevent him from sleeping; and twenty other
pranks he hath played, for all which, about four or five days ago,
just before I left the country, the squire stripped him stark naked,
and turned him out of doors."

"And very justly too, I protest," cries Dowling; "I would turn my own
son out of doors, if he was guilty of half as much. And pray what is
the name of this pretty gentleman?"

"The name o' un?" answered Petty-fogger; "why, he is called Thomas
Jones."

"Jones!" answered Dowling a little eagerly; "what, Mr Jones that lived
at Mr Allworthy's? was that the gentleman that dined with us?"--"The
very same," said the other. "I have heard of the gentleman," cries
Dowling, "often; but I never heard any ill character of him."--"And I
am sure," says Mrs Whitefield, "if half what this gentleman hath said
be true, Mr Jones hath the most deceitful countenance I ever saw; for
sure his looks promise something very different; and I must say, for
the little I have seen of him, he is as civil a well-bred man as you
would wish to converse with."

Petty-fogger calling to mind that he had not been sworn, as he usually
was, before he gave his evidence, now bound what he had declared with
so many oaths and imprecations that the landlady's ears were shocked,
and she put a stop to his swearing, by assuring him of her belief.
Upon which he said, "I hope, madam, you imagine I would scorn to tell
such things of any man, unless I knew them to be true. What interest
have I in taking away the reputation of a man who never injured me? I
promise you every syllable of what I have said is fact, and the whole
country knows it."

As Mrs Whitefield had no reason to suspect that the petty-fogger had
any motive or temptation to abuse Jones, the reader cannot blame her
for believing what he so confidently affirmed with many oaths. She
accordingly gave up her skill in physiognomy, and hence-forwards
conceived so ill an opinion of her guest, that she heartily wished him
out of her house.

This dislike was now farther increased by a report which Mr Whitefield
made from the kitchen, where Partridge had informed the company, "That
though he carried the knapsack, and contented himself with staying
among servants, while Tom Jones (as he called him) was regaling in the
parlour, he was not his servant, but only a friend and companion, and
as good a gentleman as Mr Jones himself."

Dowling sat all this while silent, biting his fingers, making faces,
grinning, and looking wonderfully arch; at last he opened his lips,
and protested that the gentleman looked like another sort of man. He
then called for his bill with the utmost haste, declared he must be at
Hereford that evening, lamented his great hurry of business, and
wished he could divide himself into twenty pieces, in order to be at
once in twenty places.

The petty-fogger now likewise departed, and then Jones desired the
favour of Mrs Whitefield's company to drink tea with him; but she
refused, and with a manner so different from that with which she had
received him at dinner, that it a little surprized him. And now he
soon perceived her behaviour totally changed; for instead of that
natural affability which we have before celebrated, she wore a
constrained severity on her countenance, which was so disagreeable to
Mr Jones, that he resolved, however late, to quit the house that
evening.

He did indeed account somewhat unfairly for this sudden change; for
besides some hard and unjust surmises concerning female fickleness and
mutability, he began to suspect that he owed this want of civility to
his want of horses; a sort of animals which, as they dirty no sheets,
are thought in inns to pay better for their beds than their riders,
and are therefore considered as the more desirable company; but Mrs
Whitefield, to do her justice, had a much more liberal way of
thinking. She was perfectly well-bred, and could be very civil to a
gentleman, though he walked on foot. In reality, she looked on our
heroe as a sorry scoundrel, and therefore treated him as such, for
which not even Jones himself, had he known as much as the reader,
could have blamed her; nay, on the contrary, he must have approved her
conduct, and have esteemed her the more for the disrespect shown
towards himself. This is indeed a most aggravating circumstance, which
attends depriving men unjustly of their reputation; for a man who is
conscious of having an ill character, cannot justly be angry with
those who neglect and slight him; but ought rather to despise such as
affect his conversation, unless where a perfect intimacy must have
convinced them that their friend's character hath been falsely and
injuriously aspersed.

This was not, however, the case of Jones; for as he was a perfect
stranger to the truth, so he was with good reason offended at the
treatment he received. He therefore paid his reckoning and departed,
highly against the will of Mr Partridge, who having remonstrated much
against it to no purpose, at last condescended to take up his knapsack
and to attend his friend.



Chapter ix.

Containing several dialogues between Jones and Partridge, concerning
love, cold, hunger, and other matters; with the lucky and narrow
escape of Partridge, as he was on the very brink of making a fatal
discovery to his friend.


The shadows began now to descend larger from the high mountains; the
feathered creation had betaken themselves to their rest. Now the
highest order of mortals were sitting down to their dinners, and the
lowest order to their suppers. In a word, the clock struck five just
as Mr Jones took his leave of Gloucester; an hour at which (as it was
now mid-winter) the dirty fingers of Night would have drawn her sable
curtain over the universe, had not the moon forbid her, who now, with
a face as broad and as red as those of some jolly mortals, who, like
her, turn night into day, began to rise from her bed, where she had
slumbered away the day, in order to sit up all night. Jones had not
travelled far before he paid his compliments to that beautiful planet,
and, turning to his companion, asked him if he had ever beheld so
delicious an evening? Partridge making no ready answer to his
question, he proceeded to comment on the beauty of the moon, and
repeated some passages from Milton, who hath certainly excelled all
other poets in his description of the heavenly luminaries. He then
told Partridge the story from the Spectator, of two lovers who had
agreed to entertain themselves when they were at a great distance from
each other, by repairing, at a certain fixed hour, to look at the
moon; thus pleasing themselves with the thought that they were both
employed in contemplating the same object at the same time. "Those
lovers," added he, "must have had souls truly capable of feeling all
the tenderness of the sublimest of all human passions."--"Very
probably," cries Partridge: "but I envy them more, if they had bodies
incapable of feeling cold; for I am almost frozen to death, and am
very much afraid I shall lose a piece of my nose before we get to
another house of entertainment. Nay, truly, we may well expect some
judgment should happen to us for our folly in running away so by night
from one of the most excellent inns I ever set my foot into. I am sure
I never saw more good things in my life, and the greatest lord in the
land cannot live better in his own house than he may there. And to
forsake such a house, and go a rambling about the country, the Lord
knows whither, _per devia rura viarum_, I say nothing for my part; but
some people might not have charity enough to conclude we were in our
sober senses."--"Fie upon it, Mr Partridge!" says Jones, "have a
better heart; consider you are going to face an enemy; and are you
afraid of facing a little cold? I wish, indeed, we had a guide to
advise which of these roads we should take."--"May I be so bold," says
Partridge, "to offer my advice? _Interdum stultus opportuna
loquitur_"--"Why, which of them," cries Jones, "would you
recommend?"--"Truly neither of them," answered Partridge. "The only
road we can be certain of finding, is the road we came. A good hearty
pace will bring us back to Gloucester in an hour; but if we go
forward, the Lord Harry knows when we shall arrive at any place; for I
see at least fifty miles before me, and no house in all the
way."--"You see, indeed, a very fair prospect," says Jones, "which
receives great additional beauty from the extreme lustre of the moon.
However, I will keep the left-hand track, as that seems to lead
directly to those hills, which we were informed lie not far from
Worcester. And here, if you are inclined to quit me, you may, and
return back again; but for my part, I am resolved to go forward."

"It is unkind in you, sir," says Partridge, "to suspect me of any such
intention. What I have advised hath been as much on your account as on
my own: but since you are determined to go on, I am as much determined
to follow. _I prae sequar te_."

They now travelled some miles without speaking to each other, during
which suspense of discourse Jones often sighed, and Benjamin groaned
as bitterly, though from a very different reason. At length Jones made
a full stop, and turning about, cries, "Who knows, Partridge, but the
loveliest creature in the universe may have her eyes now fixed on that
very moon which I behold at this instant?" "Very likely, sir,"
answered Partridge; "and if my eyes were fixed on a good surloin of
roast beef, the devil might take the moon and her horns into the
bargain." "Did ever Tramontane make such an answer?" cries Jones.
"Prithee, Partridge, wast thou ever susceptible of love in thy life,
or hath time worn away all the traces of it from thy memory?"
"Alack-a-day!" cries Partridge, "well would it have been for me if I
had never known what love was. _Infandum regina jubes renovare
dolorem_. I am sure I have tasted all the tenderness, and sublimities,
and bitternesses of the passion." "Was your mistress unkind, then?"
says Jones. "Very unkind, indeed, sir," answered Partridge; "for she
married me, and made one of the most confounded wives in the world.
However, heaven be praised, she's gone; and if I believed she was in
the moon, according to a book I once read, which teaches that to be
the receptacle of departed spirits, I would never look at it for fear
of seeing her; but I wish, sir, that the moon was a looking-glass for
your sake, and that Miss Sophia Western was now placed before it." "My
dear Partridge," cries Jones, "what a thought was there! A thought
which I am certain could never have entered into any mind but that of
a lover. O Partridge! could I hope once again to see that face; but,
alas! all those golden dreams are vanished for ever, and my only
refuge from future misery is to forget the object of all my former
happiness." "And do you really despair of ever seeing Miss Western
again?" answered Partridge; "if you will follow my advice I will
engage you shall not only see her but have her in your arms." "Ha! do
not awaken a thought of that nature," cries Jones: "I have struggled
sufficiently to conquer all such wishes already." "Nay," answered
Partridge, "if you do not wish to have your mistress in your arms you
are a most extraordinary lover indeed." "Well, well," says Jones, "let
us avoid this subject; but pray what is your advice?" "To give it you
in the military phrase, then," says Partridge, "as we are soldiers,
`To the right about.' Let us return the way we came; we may yet reach
Gloucester to-night, though late; whereas, if we proceed, we are
likely, for aught I see, to ramble about for ever without coming
either to house or home." "I have already told you my resolution is to
go on," answered Jones; "but I would have you go back. I am obliged to
you for your company hither; and I beg you to accept a guinea as a
small instance of my gratitude. Nay, it would be cruel in me to suffer
you to go any farther; for, to deal plainly with you, my chief end and
desire is a glorious death in the service of my king and country." "As
for your money," replied Partridge, "I beg, sir, you will put it up; I
will receive none of you at this time; for at present I am, I believe,
the richer man of the two. And as your resolution is to go on, so mine
is to follow you if you do. Nay, now my presence appears absolutely
necessary to take care of you, since your intentions are so desperate;
for I promise you my views are much more prudent; as you are resolved
to fall in battle if you can, so I am resolved as firmly to come to no
hurt if I can help it. And, indeed, I have the comfort to think there
will be but little danger; for a popish priest told me the other day
the business would soon be over, and he believed without a battle." "A
popish priest!" cries Jones, "I have heard is not always to be
believed when he speaks in behalf of his religion." "Yes, but so far,"
answered the other, "from speaking in behalf of his religion, he
assured me the Catholicks did not expect to be any gainers by the
change; for that Prince Charles was as good a Protestant as any in
England; and that nothing but regard to right made him and the rest of
the popish party to be Jacobites."--"I believe him to be as much a
Protestant as I believe he hath any right," says Jones; "and I make no
doubt of our success, but not without a battle. So that I am not so
sanguine as your friend the popish priest." "Nay, to be sure, sir,"
answered Partridge, "all the prophecies I have ever read speak of a
great deal of blood to be spilt in the quarrel, and the miller with
three thumbs, who is now alive, is to hold the horses of three kings,
up to his knees in blood. Lord, have mercy upon us all, and send
better times!" "With what stuff and nonsense hast thou filled thy
head!" answered Jones: "this too, I suppose, comes from the popish
priest. Monsters and prodigies are the proper arguments to support
monstrous and absurd doctrines. The cause of King George is the cause
of liberty and true religion. In other words, it is the cause of
common sense, my boy, and I warrant you will succeed, though Briarius
himself was to rise again with his hundred thumbs, and to turn
miller." Partridge made no reply to this. He was, indeed, cast into
the utmost confusion by this declaration of Jones. For, to inform the
reader of a secret, which he had no proper opportunity of revealing
before, Partridge was in truth a Jacobite, and had concluded that
Jones was of the same party, and was now proceeding to join the
rebels. An opinion which was not without foundation. For the tall,
long-sided dame, mentioned by Hudibras--that many-eyed, many-tongued,
many-mouthed, many-eared monster of Virgil, had related the story of
the quarrel between Jones and the officer, with the usual regard to
truth. She had, indeed, changed the name of Sophia into that of the
Pretender, and had reported, that drinking his health was the cause
for which Jones was knocked down. This Partridge had heard, and most
firmly believed. 'Tis no wonder, therefore, that he had thence
entertained the above-mentioned opinion of Jones; and which he had
almost discovered to him before he found out his own mistake. And at
this the reader will be the less inclined to wonder, if he pleases to
recollect the doubtful phrase in which Jones first communicated his
resolution to Mr Partridge; and, indeed, had the words been less
ambiguous, Partridge might very well have construed them as he did;
being persuaded as he was that the whole nation were of the same
inclination in their hearts; nor did it stagger him that Jones had
travelled in the company of soldiers; for he had the same opinion of
the army which he had of the rest of the people.

But however well affected he might be to James or Charles, he was
still much more attached to Little Benjamin than to either; for which
reason he no sooner discovered the principles of his fellow-traveller
than he thought proper to conceal and outwardly give up his own to the
man on whom he depended for the making his fortune, since he by no
means believed the affairs of Jones to be so desperate as they really
were with Mr Allworthy; for as he had kept a constant correspondence
with some of his neighbours since he left that country, he had heard
much, indeed more than was true, of the great affection Mr Allworthy
bore this young man, who, as Partridge had been instructed, was to be
that gentleman's heir, and whom, as we have said, he did not in the
least doubt to be his son.

He imagined therefore that whatever quarrel was between them, it would
be certainly made up at the return of Mr Jones; an event from which he
promised great advantages, if he could take this opportunity of
ingratiating himself with that young gentleman; and if he could by any
means be instrumental in procuring his return, he doubted not, as we
have before said, but it would as highly advance him in the favour of
Mr Allworthy.

We have already observed, that he was a very good-natured fellow, and
he hath himself declared the violent attachment he had to the person
and character of Jones; but possibly the views which I have just
before mentioned, might likewise have some little share in prompting
him to undertake this expedition, at least in urging him to continue
it, after he had discovered that his master and himself, like some
prudent fathers and sons, though they travelled together in great
friendship, had embraced opposite parties. I am led into this
conjecture, by having remarked, that though love, friendship, esteem,
and such like, have very powerful operations in the human mind;
interest, however, is an ingredient seldom omitted by wise men, when
they would work others to their own purposes. This is indeed a most
excellent medicine, and, like Ward's pill, flies at once to the
particular part of the body on which you desire to operate, whether it
be the tongue, the hand, or any other member, where it scarce ever
fails of immediately producing the desired effect.



Chapter x.

In which our travellers meet with a very extraordinary adventure.


Just as Jones and his friend came to the end of their dialogue in the
preceding chapter, they arrived at the bottom of a very steep hill.
Here Jones stopt short, and directing his eyes upwards, stood for a
while silent. At length he called to his companion, and said,
"Partridge, I wish I was at the top of this hill; it must certainly
afford a most charming prospect, especially by this light; for the
solemn gloom which the moon casts on all objects, is beyond expression
beautiful, especially to an imagination which is desirous of
cultivating melancholy ideas."--"Very probably," answered Partridge;
"but if the top of the hill be properest to produce melancholy
thoughts, I suppose the bottom is the likeliest to produce merry ones,
and these I take to be much the better of the two. I protest you have
made my blood run cold with the very mentioning the top of that
mountain; which seems to me to be one of the highest in the world. No,
no, if we look for anything, let it be for a place under ground, to
screen ourselves from the frost."--"Do so," said Jones; "let it be but
within hearing of this place, and I will hallow to you at my return
back."--"Surely, sir, you are not mad," said Partridge.--"Indeed, I
am," answered Jones, "if ascending this hill be madness; but as you
complain so much of the cold already, I would have you stay below. I
will certainly return to you within an hour."--"Pardon me, sir," cries
Partridge; "I have determined to follow you wherever you go." Indeed
he was now afraid to stay behind; for though he was coward enough in
all respects, yet his chief fear was that of ghosts, with which the
present time of night, and the wildness of the place, extremely well
suited.

At this instant Partridge espied a glimmering light through some
trees, which seemed very near to them. He immediately cried out in a
rapture, "Oh, sir! Heaven hath at last heard my prayers, and hath
brought us to a house; perhaps it may be an inn. Let me beseech you,
sir, if you have any compassion either for me or yourself, do not
despise the goodness of Providence, but let us go directly to yon
light. Whether it be a public-house or no, I am sure if they be
Christians that dwell there, they will not refuse a little house-room
to persons in our miserable condition." Jones at length yielded to the
earnest supplications of Partridge, and both together made directly
towards the place whence the light issued.

They soon arrived at the door of this house, or cottage, for it might
be called either, without much impropriety. Here Jones knocked several
times without receiving any answer from within; at which Partridge,
whose head was full of nothing but of ghosts, devils, witches, and
such like, began to tremble, crying, "Lord, have mercy upon us! surely
the people must be all dead. I can see no light neither now, and yet I
am certain I saw a candle burning but a moment before.--Well! I have
heard of such things."--"What hast thou heard of?" said Jones. "The
people are either fast asleep, or probably, as this is a lonely place,
are afraid to open their door." He then began to vociferate pretty
loudly, and at last an old woman, opening an upper casement, asked,
Who they were, and what they wanted? Jones answered, They were
travellers who had lost their way, and having seen a light in the
window, had been led thither in hopes of finding some fire to warm
themselves. "Whoever you are," cries the woman, "you have no business
here; nor shall I open the door to any one at this time of night."
Partridge, whom the sound of a human voice had recovered from his
fright, fell to the most earnest supplications to be admitted for a
few minutes to the fire, saying, he was almost dead with the cold; to
which fear had indeed contributed equally with the frost. He assured
her that the gentleman who spoke to her was one of the greatest
squires in the country; and made use of every argument, save one,
which Jones afterwards effectually added; and this was, the promise of
half-a-crown;--a bribe too great to be resisted by such a person,
especially as the genteel appearance of Jones, which the light of the
moon plainly discovered to her, together with his affable behaviour,
had entirely subdued those apprehensions of thieves which she had at
first conceived. She agreed, therefore, at last, to let them in; where
Partridge, to his infinite joy, found a good fire ready for his
reception.

The poor fellow, however, had no sooner warmed himself, than those
thoughts which were always uppermost in his mind, began a little to
disturb his brain. There was no article of his creed in which he had a
stronger faith than he had in witchcraft, nor can the reader conceive
a figure more adapted to inspire this idea, than the old woman who now
stood before him. She answered exactly to that picture drawn by Otway
in his Orphan. Indeed, if this woman had lived in the reign of James
the First, her appearance alone would have hanged her, almost without
any evidence.

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