“What can you mean, Mr. Booth?” cries Amelia, trembling.
“Need I explain my meaning to you more?” answered Booth.— “Did I not say I must give up my Amelia?”
“Give me up!” said she.
“For a time only, I mean,” answered he: “for a short time perhaps. The colonel himself will take care it shall not be long — for I know his heart; I shall scarce have more joy in receiving you back than he will have in restoring you to my arms. In the mean time, he will not only be a father to my children, but a husband to you.”
“A husband to me!” said Amelia.
“Yes, my dear; a kind, a fond, a tender, an affectionate husband. If I had not the most certain assurances of this, doth my Amelia think I could be prevailed on to leave her? No, my Amelia, he is the only man on earth who could have prevailed on me; but I know his house, his purse, his protection, will be all at your command. And as for any dislike you have conceived to his wife, let not that be any objection; for I am convinced he will not suffer her to insult you; besides, she is extremely well bred, and, how much soever she may hate you in her heart, she will at least treat you with civility.
“Nay, the invitation is not his, but hers; and I am convinced they will both behave to you with the greatest friendship; his I am sure will be sincere, as to the wife of a friend entrusted to his care; and hers will, from good-breeding, have not only the appearances but the effects of the truest friendship.”
“I understand you, my dear, at last,” said she (indeed she had rambled into very strange conceits from some parts of his discourse); “and I will give you my resolution in a word — I will do the duty of a wife, and that is, to attend her husband wherever he goes.”
Booth attempted to reason with her, but all to no purpose. She gave, indeed, a quiet hearing to all he said, and even to those parts which most displeased her ears; I mean those in which he exaggerated the great goodness and disinterested generosity of his friend; but her resolution remained inflexible, and resisted the force of all his arguments with a steadiness of opposition, which it would have been almost excusable in him to have construed into stubbornness.
The doctor arrived in the midst of the dispute; and, having heard the merits of the cause on both sides, delivered his opinion in the following words.
“I have always thought it, my dear children, a matter of the utmost nicety to interfere in any differences between husband and wife; but, since you both desire me with such earnestness to give you my sentiments on the present contest between you, I will give you my thoughts as well as I am able. In the first place then, can anything be more reasonable than for a wife to desire to attend her husband? It is, as my favourite child observes, no more than a desire to do her duty; and I make no doubt but that is one great reason of her insisting on it. And how can you yourself oppose it? Can love be its own enemy? or can a husband who is fond of his wife, content himself almost on any account with a long absence from her?”
“You speak like an angel, my dear Doctor Harrison,” answered Amelia: “I am sure, if he loved as tenderly as I do, he could on no account submit to it.”
“Pardon me, child,” cries the doctor; “there are some reasons which would not only justify his leaving you, but which must force him, if he hath any real love for you, joined with common sense, to make that election. If it was necessary, for instance, either to your good or to the good of your children, he would not deserve the name of a man, I am sure not that of a husband, if he hesitated a moment. Nay, in that case, I am convinced you yourself would be an advocate for what you now oppose. I fancy therefore I mistook him when I apprehended he said that the colonel made his leaving you behind as the condition of getting him the commission; for I know my dear child hath too much goodness, and too much sense, and too much resolution, to prefer any temporary indulgence of her own passions to the solid advantages of her whole family.”
“There, my dear!” cries Booth; “I knew what opinion the doctor would be of. Nay, I am certain there is not a wise man in the kingdom who would say otherwise.”
“Don’t abuse me, young gentleman,” said the doctor, “with appellations
I don’t deserve.”
“I abuse you, my dear doctor!” cries Booth.
“Yes, my dear sir,” answered the doctor; “you insinuated slily that I was wise, which, as the world understands the phrase, I should be ashamed of; and my comfort is that no one can accuse me justly of it. I have just given an instance of the contrary by throwing away my advice.”
“I hope, sir,” cries Booth, “that will not be the case.”
“Yes, sir,” answered the doctor. “I know it will be the case in the present instance, for either you will not go at all, or my little turtle here will go with you.”
“You are in the right, doctor,” cries Amelia.
“I am sorry for it,” said the doctor, “for then I assure you you are in the wrong.”
“Indeed,” cries Amelia, “if you knew all my reasons you would say they were very strong ones.”
“Very probably,” cries the doctor. “The knowledge that they are in the wrong is a very strong reason to some women to continue so.”
“Nay, doctor,” cries Amelia, “you shall never persuade me of that. I will not believe that any human being ever did an action merely because they knew it to be wrong.”
“I am obliged to you, my dear child,” said the doctor, “for declaring your resolution of not being persuaded. Your husband would never call me a wise man again if, after that declaration, I should attempt to persuade you.”
“Well, I must be content,” cries Amelia, “to let you think as you please.”
“That is very gracious, indeed,” said the doctor. “Surely, in a country where the church suffers others to think as they please, it would be very hard if they had not themselves the same liberty. And yet, as unreasonable as the power of controuling men’s thoughts is represented, I will shew you how you shall controul mine whenever you desire it.”
“How, pray?” cries Amelia. “I should greatly esteem that power.”
“Why, whenever you act like a wise woman,” cries the doctor, “you will force me to think you so: and, whenever you are pleased to act as you do now, I shall be obliged, whether I will or no, to think as I do now.”
“Nay, dear doctor,” cries Booth, “I am convinced my Amelia will never do anything to forfeit your good opinion. Consider but the cruel hardship of what she is to undergo, and you will make allowances for the difficulty she makes in complying. To say the truth, when I examine my own heart, I have more obligations to her than appear at first sight; for, by obliging me to find arguments to persuade her, she hath assisted me in conquering myself. Indeed, if she had shewn more resolution, I should have shewn less.”
“So you think it necessary, then,” said the doctor, “that there should be one fool at least in every married couple. A mighty resolution, truly! and well worth your valuing yourself upon, to part with your wife for a few months in order to make the fortune of her and your children; when you are to leave her, too, in the care and protection of a friend that gives credit to the old stories of friendship, and doth an honour to human nature. What, in the name of goodness! do either of you think that you have made an union to endure for ever? How will either of you bear that separation which must, some time or other, and perhaps very soon, be the lot of one of you? Have you forgot that you are both mortal? As for Christianity, I see you have resigned all pretensions to it; for I make no doubt but that you have so set your hearts on the happiness you enjoy here together, that neither of you ever think a word of hereafter.”
Amelia now burst into tears; upon which Booth begged the doctor to proceed no farther. Indeed, he would not have wanted the caution; for, however blunt he appeared in his discourse, he had a tenderness of heart which is rarely found among men; for which I know no other reason than that true goodness is rarely found among them; for I am firmly persuaded that the latter never possessed any human mind in a
ny degree, without being attended by as large a portion of the former.
Thus ended the conversation on this subject; what followed is not worth relating, till the doctor carried off Booth with him to take a walk in the Park.
CHAPTER V.
A conversation between Amelia and Dr Harrison, with the result.
Amelia, being left alone, began to consider seriously of her condition; she saw it would be very difficult to resist the importunities of her husband, backed by the authority of the doctor, especially as she well knew how unreasonable her declarations must appear to every one who was ignorant of her real motives to persevere in it. On the other hand, she was fully determined, whatever might be the consequence, to adhere firmly to her resolution of not accepting the colonel’s invitation.
When she had turned the matter every way in her mind, and vexed and tormented herself with much uneasy reflexion upon it, a thought at last occurred to her which immediately brought her some comfort. This was, to make a confidant of the doctor, and to impart to him the whole truth. This method, indeed, appeared to her now to be so adviseable, that she wondered she had not hit upon it sooner; but it is the nature of despair to blind us to all the means of safety, however easy and apparent they may be.
Having fixed her purpose in her mind, she wrote a short note to the doctor, in which she acquainted him that she had something of great moment to impart to him, which must be an entire secret from her husband, and begged that she might have an opportunity of communicating it as soon as possible.
Doctor Harrison received the letter that afternoon, and immediately complied with Amelia’s request in visiting her. He found her drinking tea with her husband and Mrs. Atkinson, and sat down and joined the company.
Soon after the removal of the tea-table Mrs. Atkinson left the room.
The doctor then, turning to Booth, said, “I hope, captain, you have a true sense of the obedience due to the church, though our clergy do not often exact it. However, it is proper to exercise our power sometimes, in order to remind the laity of their duty. I must tell you, therefore, that I have some private business with your wife; and I expect your immediate absence.”
“Upon my word, doctor,” answered Booth, “no Popish confessor, I firmly believe, ever pronounced his will and pleasure with more gravity and dignity; none therefore was ever more immediately obeyed than you shall be.” Booth then quitted the room, and desired the doctor to recall him when his business with the lady was over.
Doctor Harrison promised he would; and then turning to Amelia he said, “Thus far, madam, I have obeyed your commands, and am now ready to receive the important secret which you mention in your note.” Amelia now informed her friend of all she knew, all she had seen and heard, and all that she suspected, of the colonel. The good man seemed greatly shocked at the relation, and remained in a silent astonishment. Upon which Amelia said, “Is villany so rare a thing, sir, that it should so much surprize you?” “No, child,” cries he; “but I am shocked at seeing it so artfully disguised under the appearance of so much virtue; and, to confess the truth, I believe my own vanity is a little hurt in having been so grossly imposed upon. Indeed, I had a very high regard for this man; for, besides the great character given him by your husband, and the many facts I have heard so much redounding to his honour, he hath the fairest and most promising appearance I have ever yet beheld. A good face, they say, is a letter of recommendation. O Nature, Nature, why art thou so dishonest as ever to send men with these false recommendations into the world?”
“Indeed, my dear sir, I begin to grow entirely sick of it,” cries
Amelia, “for sure all mankind almost are villains in their hearts.”
“Fie, child!” cries the doctor. “Do not make a conclusion so much to the dishonour of the great Creator. The nature of man is far from being in itself evil: it abounds with benevolence, charity, and pity, coveting praise and honour, and shunning shame and disgrace. Bad education, bad habits, and bad customs, debauch our nature, and drive it headlong as it were into vice. The governors of the world, and I am afraid the priesthood, are answerable for the badness of it. Instead of discouraging wickedness to the utmost of their power, both are too apt to connive at it. In the great sin of adultery, for instance; hath the government provided any law to punish it? or doth the priest take any care to correct it? on the contrary, is the most notorious practice of it any detriment to a man’s fortune or to his reputation in the world? doth it exclude him from any preferment in the state, I had almost said in the church? is it any blot in his escutcheon? any bar to his honour? is he not to be found every day in the assemblies of women of the highest quality? in the closets of the greatest men, and even at the tables of bishops? What wonder then if the community in general treat this monstrous crime as a matter of jest, and that men give way to the temptations of a violent appetite, when the indulgence of it is protected by law and countenanced by custom? I am convinced there are good stamina in the nature of this very man; for he hath done acts of friendship and generosity to your husband before he could have any evil design on your chastity; and in a Christian society, which I no more esteem this nation to be than I do any part of Turkey, I doubt not but this very colonel would have made a worthy and valuable member.”
“Indeed, my dear sir,” cries Amelia, “you are the wisest as well as best man in the world— “
“Not a word of my wisdom,” cries the doctor. “I have not a grain — I am not the least versed in the Chrematistic [Footnote: The art of getting wealth is so called by Aristotle in his Politics.] art, as an old friend of mine calls it. I know not how to get a shilling, nor how to keep it in my pocket if I had it.”
“But you understand human nature to the bottom,” answered Amelia; “and your mind is the treasury of all ancient and modern learning.”
“You are a little flatterer,” cries the doctor; “but I dislike you not for it. And, to shew you I don’t, I will return your flattery, and tell you you have acted with great prudence in concealing this affair from your husband; but you have drawn me into a scrape; for I have promised to dine with this fellow again to-morrow, and you have made it impossible for me to keep my word.”
“Nay, but, dear sir,” cries Amelia, “for Heaven’s sake take care! If you shew any kind of disrespect to the colonel, my husband may be led into some suspicion — especially after our conference.”
“Fear nothing, child. I will give him no hint; and, that I may be certain of not doing it, I will stay away. You do not think, I hope, that I will join in a chearful conversation with such a man; that I will so far betray my character as to give any countenance to such flagitious proceedings. Besides, my promise was only conditional; and I do not know whether I could otherwise have kept it; for I expect an old friend every day who comes to town twenty miles on foot to see me, whom I shall not part with on any account; for, as he is very poor, he may imagine I treat him with disrespect.”
“Well, sir,” cries Amelia, “I must admire you and love you for your goodness.”
“Must you love me?” cries the doctor. “I could cure you now in a minute if I pleased.”
“Indeed, I defy you, sir,” said Amelia.
“If I could but persuade you,” answered he, “that I thought you not handsome, away would vanish all ideas of goodness in an instant. Confess honestly, would they not?”
“Perhaps I might blame the goodness of your eyes,” replied Amelia; “and that is perhaps an honester confession than you expected. But do, pray, sir, be serious, and give me your advice what to do. Consider the difficult game I have to play; for I am sure, after what I have told you, you would not even suffer me to remain under the roof of this colonel.”
“No, indeed, would I not,” said the doctor, “whilst I have a house of my own to entertain you.”
“But how to dissuade my husband,” continued she, “without giving him any suspicion of the real cause, the consequences of his guessing at which I tremble to think upon.”
“I wil
l consult my pillow upon it,” said the doctor; “and in the morning you shall see me again. In the mean time be comforted, and compose the perturbations of your mind.”
Complete Fictional Works of Henry Fielding Page 211