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 Gentleman-like 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.’ ‘O ho! 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 any Thing 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 every Thing 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 Knapasack; 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 ancient 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.1 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.2 Her Person and Deportment might have made a shining Figure in the politest Assemblies; but tho’ 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 Expence 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 shew 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 Lidlinch 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 Attornies, and will ride more Miles for half a Crown than a Post-boy.
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 Kitchin. 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 Pennance, which I have often heard Mr. Timothy Harris,3 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 prote
st; 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 every Body 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 strip’d 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.’
Pettyfogger 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 Pettyfogger 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 henceforwards 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 Kitchin, where Partridge had informed the Company, ‘That tho’ 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 Pettyfogger 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, tho’ 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 shewn 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 feather’d 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 slumbred 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.1‘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 would 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 præ, sequar te.’
They now travelled some Miles without speaking to each other, during which Suspence of Discourse Jones often sighed, and Benjamin groaned as bitterly, tho’ 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 Tramontane2 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, tho’ late; whereas if we proceed, we are likely, for ought 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.3 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, tho’ Briareus himself was to rise again with his hundred Thumbs,4 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 we 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,5 had related the Story of the Quarrel between Jones and the Officer, with her 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.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 50