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The History of Tom Jones, a foundling

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




The horses being now produced, Jones directly leapt into the
side-saddle, on which his dear Sophia had rid. The lad, indeed, very
civilly offered him the use of his; but he chose the side-saddle,
probably because it was softer. Partridge, however, though full as
effeminate as Jones, could not bear the thoughts of degrading his
manhood; he therefore accepted the boy's offer: and now, Jones being
mounted on the side-saddle of his Sophia, the boy on that of Mrs
Honour, and Partridge bestriding the third horse, they set forwards on
their journey, and within four hours arrived at the inn where the
reader hath already spent so much time. Partridge was in very high
spirits during the whole way, and often mentioned to Jones the many
good omens of his future success which had lately befriended him; and
which the reader, without being the least superstitious, must allow to
have been particularly fortunate. Partridge was moreover better
pleased with the present pursuit of his companion than he had been
with his pursuit of glory; and from these very omens, which assured
the pedagogue of success, he likewise first acquired a clear idea of
the amour between Jones and Sophia; to which he had before given very
little attention, as he had originally taken a wrong scent concerning
the reasons of Jones's departure; and as to what happened at Upton, he
was too much frightened just before and after his leaving that place
to draw any other conclusions from thence than that poor Jones was a
downright madman: a conceit which was not at all disagreeable to the
opinion he before had of his extraordinary wildness, of which, he
thought, his behaviour on their quitting Gloucester so well justified
all the accounts he had formerly received. He was now, however, pretty
well satisfied with his present expedition, and henceforth began to
conceive much worthier sentiments of his friend's understanding.

The clock had just struck three when they arrived, and Jones
immediately bespoke post-horses; but unluckily there was not a horse
to be procured in the whole place; which the reader will not wonder at
when he considers the hurry in which the whole nation, and especially
this part of it, was at this time engaged, when expresses were passing
and repassing every hour of the day and night.

Jones endeavoured all he could to prevail with his former guide to
escorte him to Coventry; but he was inexorable. While he was arguing
with the boy in the inn-yard, a person came up to him, and saluting
him by his name, enquired how all the good family did in
Somersetshire; and now Jones casting his eyes upon this person,
presently discovered him to be Mr Dowling, the lawyer, with whom he
had dined at Gloucester, and with much courtesy returned the
salutation.

Dowling very earnestly pressed Mr Jones to go no further that night;
and backed his solicitations with many unanswerable arguments, such
as, that it was almost dark, that the roads were very dirty, and that
he would be able to travel much better by day-light, with many others
equally good, some of which Jones had probably suggested to himself
before; but as they were then ineffectual, so they were still: and he
continued resolute in his design, even though he should be obliged to
set out on foot.

When the good attorney found he could not prevail on Jones to stay, he
as strenuously applied himself to persuade the guide to accompany him.
He urged many motives to induce him to undertake this short journey,
and at last concluded with saying, "Do you think the gentleman won't
very well reward you for your trouble?"

Two to one are odds at every other thing as well as at foot-ball. But
the advantage which this united force hath in persuasion or entreaty
must have been visible to a curious observer; for he must have often
seen, that when a father, a master, a wife, or any other person in
authority, have stoutly adhered to a denial against all the reasons
which a single man could produce, they have afterwards yielded to the
repetition of the same sentiments by a second or third person, who
hath undertaken the cause, without attempting to advance anything new
in its behalf. And hence, perhaps, proceeds the phrase of seconding an
argument or a motion, and the great consequence this is of in all
assemblies of public debate. Hence, likewise, probably it is, that in
our courts of law we often hear a learned gentleman (generally a
serjeant) repeating for an hour together what another learned
gentleman, who spoke just before him, had been saying.

Instead of accounting for this, we shall proceed in our usual manner
to exemplify it in the conduct of the lad above mentioned, who
submitted to the persuasions of Mr Dowling, and promised once more to
admit Jones into his side-saddle; but insisted on first giving the
poor creatures a good bait, saying, they had travelled a great way,
and been rid very hard. Indeed this caution of the boy was needless;
for Jones, notwithstanding his hurry and impatience, would have
ordered this of himself; for he by no means agreed with the opinion of
those who consider animals as mere machines, and when they bury their
spurs in the belly of their horse, imagine the spur and the horse to
have an equal capacity of feeling pain.

While the beasts were eating their corn, or rather were supposed to
eat it (for, as the boy was taking care of himself in the kitchen, the
ostler took great care that his corn should not be consumed in the
stable), Mr Jones, at the earnest desire of Mr Dowling, accompanied
that gentleman into his room, where they sat down together over a
bottle of wine.



Chapter x.

In which Mr Jones and Mr Dowling drink a bottle together.


Mr Dowling, pouring out a glass of wine, named the health of the good
Squire Allworthy; adding, "If you please, sir, we will likewise
remember his nephew and heir, the young squire: Come, sir, here's Mr
Blifil to you, a very pretty young gentleman; and who, I dare swear,
will hereafter make a very considerable figure in his country. I have
a borough for him myself in my eye."

"Sir," answered Jones, "I am convinced you don't intend to affront me,
so I shall not resent it; but I promise you, you have joined two
persons very improperly together; for one is the glory of the human
species, and the other is a rascal who dishonours the name of man."

Dowling stared at this. He said, "He thought both the gentlemen had a
very unexceptionable character. As for Squire Allworthy himself," says
he, "I never had the happiness to see him; but all the world talks of
his goodness. And, indeed, as to the young gentleman, I never saw him
but once, when I carried him the news of the loss of his mother; and
then I was so hurried, and drove, and tore with the multiplicity of
business, that I had hardly time to converse with him; but he looked
so like a very honest gentleman, and behaved himself so prettily, that
I protest I never was more delighted with any gentleman since I was
born."

"I don't wonder," answered Jones, "that he should impose upon you in
so short an acquaintance; for he hath the cunning of the devil
himself, and you may live with him many years, without discovering
him. I was bred up with him from my infancy, and we were hardly ever
asunder; but it is very lately only that I have discovered half the
villany which is in him. I own I never greatly liked him. I thought he
wanted that generosity of spirit, which is the sure foundation of all
that is great and noble in human nature. I saw a selfishness in him
long ago which I despised; but it is lately, very lately, that I have
found him capable of the basest and blackest designs; for, indeed, I
have at last found out, that he hath taken an advantage of the
openness of my own temper, and hath concerted the deepest project, by
a long train of wicked artifice, to work my ruin, which at last he
hath effected."

"Ay! ay!" cries Dowling; "I protest, then, it is a pity such a person
should inherit the great estate of your uncle Allworthy."

"Alas, sir," cries Jones, "you do me an honour to which I have no
title. It is true, indeed, his goodness once allowed me the liberty of
calling him by a much nearer name; but as this was only a voluntary
act of goodness, I can complain of no injustice when he thinks proper
to deprive me of this honour; since the loss cannot be more unmerited
than the gift originally was. I assure you, sir, I am no relation of
Mr Allworthy; and if the world, who are incapable of setting a true
value on his virtue, should think, in his behaviour to me, he hath
dealt hardly by a relation, they do an injustice to the best of men:
for I--but I ask your pardon, I shall trouble you with no particulars
relating to myself; only as you seemed to think me a relation of Mr
Allworthy, I thought proper to set you right in a matter that might
draw some censures upon him, which I promise you I would rather lose
my life than give occasion to."

"I protest, sir," cried Dowling, "you talk very much like a man of
honour; but instead of giving me any trouble, I protest it would give
me great pleasure to know how you came to be thought a relation of Mr
Allworthy's, if you are not. Your horses won't be ready this
half-hour, and as you have sufficient opportunity, I wish you would
tell me how all that happened; for I protest it seems very surprizing
that you should pass for a relation of a gentleman, without being so."

Jones, who in the compliance of his disposition (though not in his
prudence) a little resembled his lovely Sophia, was easily prevailed
on to satisfy Mr Dowling's curiosity, by relating the history of his
birth and education, which he did, like Othello.

------Even from his boyish years,
To th' very moment he was bad to tell:

the which to hear, Dowling, like Desdemona, did seriously incline;

He swore 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;
'Twas pitiful, 'twas wonderous pitiful.

Mr Dowling was indeed very greatly affected with this relation; for he
had not divested himself of humanity by being an attorney. Indeed,
nothing is more unjust than to carry our prejudices against a
profession into private life, and to borrow our idea of a man from our
opinion of his calling. Habit, it is true, lessens the horror of those
actions which the profession makes necessary, and consequently
habitual; but in all other instances, Nature works in men of all
professions alike; nay, perhaps, even more strongly with those who
give her, as it were, a holiday, when they are following their
ordinary business. A butcher, I make no doubt, would feel compunction
at the slaughter of a fine horse; and though a surgeon can feel no
pain in cutting off a limb, I have known him compassionate a man in a
fit of the gout. The common hangman, who hath stretched the necks of
hundreds, is known to have trembled at his first operation on a head:
and the very professors of human blood-shedding, who, in their trade
of war, butcher thousands, not only of their fellow-professors, but
often of women and children, without remorse; even these, I say, in
times of peace, when drums and trumpets are laid aside, often lay
aside all their ferocity, and become very gentle members of civil
society. In the same manner an attorney may feel all the miseries and
distresses of his fellow-creatures, provided he happens not to be
concerned against them.

Jones, as the reader knows, was yet unacquainted with the very black
colours in which he had been represented to Mr Allworthy; and as to
other matters, he did not shew them in the most disadvantageous light;
for though he was unwilling to cast any blame on his former friend and
patron; yet he was not very desirous of heaping too much upon himself.
Dowling therefore observed, and not without reason, that very ill
offices must have been done him by somebody: "For certainly," cries
he, "the squire would never have disinherited you only for a few
faults, which any young gentleman might have committed. Indeed, I
cannot properly say disinherited: for to be sure by law you cannot
claim as heir. That's certain; that nobody need go to counsel for. Yet
when a gentleman had in a manner adopted you thus as his own son, you
might reasonably have expected some very considerable part, if not the
whole; nay, if you had expected the whole, I should not have blamed
you: for certainly all men are for getting as much as they can, and
they are not to be blamed on that account."

"Indeed you wrong me," said Jones; "I should have been contented with
very little: I never had any view upon Mr Allworthy's fortune; nay, I
believe I may truly say, I never once considered what he could or
might give me. This I solemnly declare, if he had done a prejudice to
his nephew in my favour, I would have undone it again. I had rather
enjoy my own mind than the fortune of another man. What is the poor
pride arising from a magnificent house, a numerous equipage, a
splendid table, and from all the other advantages or appearances of
fortune, compared to the warm, solid content, the swelling
satisfaction, the thrilling transports, and the exulting triumphs,
which a good mind enjoys, in the contemplation of a generous,
virtuous, noble, benevolent action? I envy not Blifil in the prospect
of his wealth; nor shall I envy him in the possession of it. I would
not think myself a rascal half an hour, to exchange situations. I
believe, indeed, Mr Blifil suspected me of the views you mention; and
I suppose these suspicions, as they arose from the baseness of his own
heart, so they occasioned his baseness to me. But, I thank Heaven, I
know, I feel--I feel my innocence, my friend; and I would not part
with that feeling for the world. For as long as I know I have never
done, nor even designed, an injury to any being whatever,

_Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis
Arbor aestiva recreatur aura,
Quod latus mundi nebulae, malusque
Jupiter urget.

Pone sub curru nimium propinqui
Solis in terra dominibus negata;
Dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo,
Dulce loquentem._[*]

[*] Place me where never summer breeze
Unbinds the glebe, or warms the trees:
Where ever-lowering clouds appear,
And angry Jove deforms th' inclement year.

Place me beneath the burning ray,
Where rolls the rapid car of day;
Love and the nymph shall charm my toils,
The nymph who sweetly speaks, and sweetly smiles.
MR FRANCIS.

He then filled a bumper of wine, and drunk it off to the health of his
dear Lalage; and, filling Dowling's glass likewise up to the brim,
insisted on his pledging him. "Why, then, here's Miss Lalage's health
with all my heart," cries Dowling. "I have heard her toasted often, I
protest, though I never saw her; but they say she's extremely
handsome."

Though the Latin was not the only part of this speech which Dowling
did not perfectly understand; yet there was somewhat in it that made a
very strong impression upon him. And though he endeavoured by winking,
nodding, sneering, and grinning, to hide the impression from Jones
(for we are as often ashamed of thinking right as of thinking wrong),
it is certain he secretly approved as much of his sentiments as he
understood, and really felt a very strong impulse of compassion for
him. But we may possibly take some other opportunity of commenting
upon this, especially if we should happen to meet Mr Dowling any more
in the course of our history. At present we are obliged to take our
leave of that gentleman a little abruptly, in imitation of Mr Jones;
who was no sooner informed, by Partridge, that his horses were ready,
than he deposited his reckoning, wished his companion a good night,
mounted, and set forward towards Coventry, though the night was dark,
and it just then began to rain very hard.



Chapter xi.

The disasters which befel Jones on his departure for Coventry; with
the sage remarks of Partridge.


No road can be plainer than that from the place where they now were to
Coventry; and though neither Jones, nor Partridge, nor the guide, had
ever travelled it before, it would have been almost impossible to have
missed their way, had it not been for the two reasons mentioned in the
conclusion of the last chapter.

These two circumstances, however, happening both unfortunately to
intervene, our travellers deviated into a much less frequented track;
and after riding full six miles, instead of arriving at the stately
spires of Coventry, they found themselves still in a very dirty lane,
where they saw no symptoms of approaching the suburbs of a large city.

Jones now declared that they must certainly have lost their way; but
this the guide insisted upon was impossible; a word which, in common
conversation, is often used to signify not only improbable, but often
what is really very likely, and, sometimes, what hath certainly
happened; an hyperbolical violence like that which is so frequently
offered to the words infinite and eternal; by the former of which it
is usual to express a distance of half a yard, and by the latter, a
duration of five minutes. And thus it is as usual to assert the
impossibility of losing what is already actually lost. This was, in
fact, the case at present; for, notwithstanding all the confident
assertions of the lad to the contrary, it is certain they were no more
in the right road to Coventry, than the fraudulent, griping, cruel,
canting miser is in the right road to heaven.

It is not, perhaps, easy for a reader, who hath never been in those
circumstances, to imagine the horror with which darkness, rain, and
wind, fill persons who have lost their way in the night; and who,
consequently, have not the pleasant prospect of warm fires, dry
cloaths, and other refreshments, to support their minds in struggling
with the inclemencies of the weather. A very imperfect idea of this
horror will, however, serve sufficiently to account for the conceits
which now filled the head of Partridge, and which we shall presently
be obliged to open.

Jones grew more and more positive that they were out of their road;
and the boy himself at last acknowledged he believed they were not in
the right road to Coventry; though he affirmed, at the same time, it
was impossible they should have mist the way. But Partridge was of a
different opinion. He said, "When they first set out he imagined some
mischief or other would happen.--Did not you observe, sir," said he to
Jones, "that old woman who stood at the door just as you was taking
horse? I wish you had given her a small matter, with all my heart; for
she said then you might repent it; and at that very instant it began
to rain, and the wind hath continued rising ever since. Whatever some
people may think, I am very certain it is in the power of witches to
raise the wind whenever they please. I have seen it happen very often
in my time: and if ever I saw a witch in all my life, that old woman
was certainly one. I thought so to myself at that very time; and if I
had had any halfpence in my pocket, I would have given her some; for
to be sure it is always good to be charitable to those sort of people,
for fear what may happen; and many a person hath lost his cattle by
saving a halfpenny."

Jones, though he was horridly vexed at the delay which this mistake
was likely to occasion in his journey, could not help smiling at the
superstition of his friend, whom an accident now greatly confirmed in
his opinion. This was a tumble from his horse; by which, however, he
received no other injury than what the dirt conferred on his cloaths.

Partridge had no sooner recovered his legs, than he appealed to his
fall, as conclusive evidence of all he had asserted; but Jones finding
he was unhurt, answered with a smile: "This witch of yours, Partridge,
is a most ungrateful jade, and doth not, I find, distinguish her
friends from others in her resentment. If the old lady had been angry
with me for neglecting her, I don't see why she should tumble you from
your horse, after all the respect you have expressed for her."

"It is ill jesting," cries Partridge, "with people who have power to
do these things; for they are often very malicious. I remember a
farrier, who provoked one of them, by asking her when the time she had
bargained with the devil for would be out; and within three months
from that very day one of his best cows was drowned. Nor was she
satisfied with that; for a little time afterwards he lost a barrel of
best-drink: for the old witch pulled out the spigot, and let it run
all over the cellar, the very first evening he had tapped it to make
merry with some of his neighbours. In short, nothing ever thrived with
him afterwards; for she worried the poor man so, that he took to
drinking; and in a year or two his stock was seized, and he and his
family are now come to the parish."

The guide, and perhaps his horse too, were both so attentive to this
discourse, that, either through want of care, or by the malice of the
witch, they were now both sprawling in the dirt.

Partridge entirely imputed this fall, as he had done his own, to the
same cause. He told Mr Jones, "It would certainly be his turn next;
and earnestly entreated him to return back, and find out the old
woman, and pacify her. We shall very soon," added he, "reach the inn;
for though we have seemed to go forward, I am very certain we are in
the identical place in which we were an hour ago; and I dare swear, if
it was daylight, we might now see the inn we set out from."

Instead of returning any answer to this sage advice, Jones was
entirely attentive to what had happened to the boy, who received no
other hurt than what had before befallen Partridge, and which his
cloaths very easily bore, as they had been for many years inured to
the like. He soon regained his side-saddle, and by the hearty curses
and blows which he bestowed on his horse, quickly satisfied Mr Jones
that no harm was done.



Chapter xii.

Relates that Mr Jones continued his journey, contrary to the advice of
Partridge, with what happened on that occasion.


They now discovered a light at some distance, to the great pleasure of
Jones, and to the no small terror of Partridge, who firmly believed
himself to be bewitched, and that this light was a Jack-with-a-lantern,
or somewhat more mischievous.

But how were these fears increased, when, as they approached nearer to
this light (or lights as they now appeared), they heard a confused
sound of human voices; of singing, laughing, and hallowing, together
with a strange noise that seemed to proceed from some instruments; but
could hardly be allowed the name of music! indeed, to favour a little
the opinion of Partridge, it might very well be called music
bewitched.

It is impossible to conceive a much greater degree of horror than what
now seized on Partridge; the contagion of which had reached the
post-boy, who had been very attentive to many things that the other
had uttered. He now, therefore, joined in petitioning Jones to return;
saying he firmly believed what Partridge had just before said, that
though the horses seemed to go on, they had not moved a step forwards
during at least the last half-hour.

Jones could not help smiling in the midst of his vexation, at the
fears of these poor fellows. "Either we advance," says he, "towards
the lights, or the lights have advanced towards us; for we are now at
a very little distance from them; but how can either of you be afraid
of a set of people who appear only to be merry-making?"

"Merry-making, sir!" cries Partridge; "who could be merry-making at
this time of night, and in such a place, and such weather? They can be
nothing but ghosts or witches, or some evil spirits or other, that's
certain."

"Let them be what they will," cries Jones, "I am resolved to go up to
them, and enquire the way to Coventry. All witches, Partridge, are not
such ill-natured hags as that we had the misfortune to meet with
last."

"O Lord, sir," cries Partridge, "there is no knowing what humour they
will be in; to be sure it is always best to be civil to them; but what
if we should meet with something worse than witches, with evil spirits
themselves?----Pray, sir, be advised; pray, sir, do. If you had read
so many terrible accounts as I have of these matters, you would not be
so fool-hardy.----The Lord knows whither we have got already, or
whither we are going; for sure such darkness was never seen upon
earth, and I question whether it can be darker in the other world."

Jones put forwards as fast as he could, notwithstanding all these
hints and cautions, and poor Partridge was obliged to follow; for
though he hardly dared to advance, he dared still less to stay behind
by himself.

At length they arrived at the place whence the lights and different
noises had issued. This Jones perceived to be no other than a barn,
where a great number of men and women were assembled, and diverting
themselves with much apparent jollity.

Jones no sooner appeared before the great doors of the barn, which
were open, than a masculine and very rough voice from within demanded,
who was there?--To which Jones gently answered, a friend; and
immediately asked the road to Coventry.

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