Having travelled on for some Miles in a High Road, which Northerton said he was informed led to Hereford, they came at the Break of Day to the Side of a large Wood, where he suddenly stopped, and affecting to meditate a Moment with himself, expressed some Apprehensions from travelling any longer in so public a Way. Upon which he easily persuaded his fair Companion to strike with him into a Path which seemed to lead directly through the Wood, and which at length brought them both to the Bottom of Mazard-Hill.
Whether the execrable Scheme which he now attempted to execute, was the Effect of previous Deliberation, or whether it now first came into his Head, I cannot determine. But being arrived in this lonely Place, where it was very improbable he should meet with any Interruption; he suddenly slipped his Garter from his Leg, and laying violent Hands on the poor Woman, endeavoured to perpetrate that dreadful and detestable Fact, which we have before commemorated, and which the providential Appearance of Jone did so fortunately prevent.
Happy was it for Mrs. Waters, that she was not of the weakest Order of Females; for no sooner did she perceive by his tying a Knot in his Garter, and by his Declarations, what his hellish Intentions were, than she stood stoutly to her Defence, and so strongly struggled with her Enemy, screaming all the while for Assistance, that she delayed the Execution of the Villain’s Purpose several Minutes, by which Means Mr. Jones came to her Relief, at that very Instant when her Strength failed, and she was totally overpowered, and delivered her from the Ruffian’s Hands, with no other Loss than that of her Cloaths, which were torn from her Back, and of the Diamond Ring, which during the Contention either dropped from her Finger, or was wrenched from it by Northerton.
Thus, Reader, we have given thee the Fruits of a very painful Enquiry, which, for thy Satisfaction, we have made into this Matter. And here we have opened to thee a Scene of Folly, as well as Villainy, which we could scarce have believed a human Creature capable of being guilty of; had we not remembered that this Fellow was at that Time firmly persuaded, that he had already committed a Murder, and had forfeited his Life to the Law. As he concluded therefore that his only Safety lay in Flight, he thought the possessing himself of this poor Woman’s Money and Ring, would make him Amends for the additional Burthen he was to lay on his Conscience.
And here, Reader, we must strictly caution thee, that thou dost not take any Occasion from the Misbehaviour of such a Wretch as this, to reflect on so worthy and honourable a Body of Men, as are the Officers of our Army in general. Thou wilt be pleased to consider, that this Fellow, as we have already informed thee, had neither the Birth nor Education of a Gentleman, nor was a proper Person to be enrolled among the Number of such. If therefore his Baseness can justly reflect on any besides himself, it must be only on those who gave him his Commission.
BOOK X.
In which the History goes forward about Twelve Hours.
CHAPTER I.
Containing Instructions very necessary to be perused by modern Critics.
Reader, it is impossible we should know what Sort of Person thou wilt be: For perhaps, thou may’st be as learned in Human Nature as Shakespear himself was, and, perhaps, thou may’st be no wiser than some of his Editors.1 Now lest this latter should be the Case, we think proper, before we go any farther together, to give thee a few wholesome Admonitions; that thou may’st not as grosly misunderstand and misrepresent us, as some of the said Editors have misunderstood and misrepresented their Author.
First, then, we warn thee not too hastily to condemn any of the Incidents in this our History, as impertinent and foreign to our main Design, because thou dost not immediately conceive in what Manner such Incident may conduce to that Design. This Work may, indeed, be considered as a great Creation of our own; and for a little Reptile of a Critic to presume to find Fault with any of its Parts, without knowing the Manner in which the Whole is connected, and before he comes to the final Catastrophe, is a most presumptuous Absurdity. The Allusion and Metaphor we have here made use of, we must acknowledge to be infinitely too great for our Occasion; but there is, indeed, no other, which is at all adequate to express the Difference between an Author of the first Rate, and a Critic of the lowest.
Another Caution we would give thee, my good Reptile, is, that thou dost not find out too near a Resemblance between certain Characters here introduced; as for Instance, between the Landlady who appears in the Seventh Book, and her in the Ninth. Thou art to know, Friend, that there are certain Characteristics, in which most Individuals of every Profession and Occupation agree. To be able to preserve these Characteristics, and at the same Time to diversify their Operations, is one Talent of a good Writer. Again, to mark the nice Distinction between two Persons actuated by the same Vice or Folly is another; and as this last Talent is found in very few Writers, so is the true Discernment of it found in as few Readers; though, I believe, the Observation of this forms a very principal Pleasure in those who are capable of the Discovery: Every Person, for Instance, can distinguish between Sir Epicure Mammon, and Sir Fopling Flutter; but to note the Difference between Sir Fopling Flutter; and Sir Courtly Nice,2 requires a more exquisite Judgment: For want of which, vulgar Spectators of Plays very often do great Injustice in the Theatre; where I have sometimes known a Poet in Danger of being convicted as a Thief, upon much worse Evidence than the Resemblance of Hands hath been held to be in the Law. In Reality, I apprehend every amorous Widow on the Stage would run the Hazard of being condemned as a servile Imitation of Dido, but that happily very few of our Play-house Critics understand enough of Latin to read Virgil.
In the next Place, we must admonish thee, my worthy Friend, (for, perhaps, thy Heart may be better than thy Head) not to condemn a Character as a bad one, because it is not perfectly a good one. If thou dost delight in these Models of Perfection, there are Books enow written to gratify thy Taste; but as we have not, in the course of our Conversation, ever happened to meet with any such Person, we have not chosen to introduce any such here. To say the Truth, I a little question whether mere Man ever arrived at this consummate Degree of Excellence, as well as whether there hath ever existed a Monster bad enough to verify that
——nulla virtute redemptum
A vitiis——*
in Juvenal: Nor do I, indeed, conceive the good Purposes served by inserting Characters of such angelic Perfection, or such diabolical Depravity, in any Work of Invention: Since from contemplating either, the Mind of Man is more likely to be overwhelmed with Sorrow and Shame, than to draw any good Uses from such Patterns; for in the former Instance he may be both concerned and ashamed to see a Pattern of Excellence, in his Nature, which he may reasonably despair of ever arriving at; and in contemplating the latter, he may be no less affected with those uneasy Sensations, at seeing the Nature, of which he is a Partaker, degraded into so odious and detestable a Creature.
In Fact, if there be enough of Goodness in a Character to engage the Admiration and Affection of a well-disposed Mind, though there should appear some of those little Blemishes, quas humana parum cavit natura,4 they will raise our Compassion rather than our Abhorrence. Indeed, nothing can be of more moral Use than the Imperfections which are seen in Examples of this Kind; since such from a Kind of Surprize, more apt to affect and dwell upon our Minds, than the Faults of very vicious and wicked Persons. The Foibles and Vices of Men in whom there is great Mixture of Good, become more glaring Objects, from the Virtues which contrast them, and shew their Deformity; and when we find such Vices attended with their evil Consequence to our favourite Characters, we are not only taught to shun them for our own Sake, but to hate them for the Mischiefs they have already brought on those we love.
And now, my Friend, having given you these few Admonitions, we will, if you please, once more set forward with our History.
CHAPTER II.
Containing the Arrival of an Irish Gentleman, with very extraordinary Adventures which ensued at the Inn.
Now the little trembling Hare, which the Dread of all her numerous Enemies, and chie
fly of that cunning, cruel, carnivorous Animal Man, had confined all the Day to her Lurking-place, sports wantonly o’er the Lawns: Now on some hollow Tree the Owl, shrill Chorister of the Night, hoots forth Notes which might charm the Ears of some modern Connoisseurs in Music: Now in the Imagination of the half-drunk Clown, as he staggers through the Church-yard, or rather Charnel-yard, to his Home, Fear paints the bloody Hobgoblin: Now Thieves and Ruffians are awake, and honest Watchmen fast asleep: In plain English, it was now Midnight; and the Company at the Inn, as well those who have been already mentioned in this History, as some others who arrived in the Evening, were all in Bed. Only Susan Chambermaid was now stirring, she being obliged to wash the Kitchin, before she retired to the Arms of the fond, expecting Hostler.
In this Posture were Affairs at the Inn, when a Gentleman arrived there Post. He immediately alighted from his Horse, and coming up to Susan, enquired of her, in a very abrupt and confused Manner, being almost out of Breath with Eagerness, whether there was any Lady in the House. The Hour of Night, and the Behaviour of the Man, who stared very wildly all the Time, a little surprized Susan, so that she hesitated before she made any Answer: Upon which the Gentleman, with redoubled Eagerness, begg’d her to give him a true Information, saying, he had lost his Wife, and was come in Pursuit of her. ‘Upon my Shoul,’ cries he, ‘I have been near catching her already in two or three Places, if I had not found her gone just as I came up with her. If she be in the House, do carry me up in the Dark and shew her to me; and if she be gone away before me; do tell me which Way I shall go after her to meet her, and upon my Shoul, I will make you the richest poor Woman in the Nation.’ He then pulled out a Handful of Guineas, a Sight which would have bribed Persons of much greater Consequence than this poor Wench, to much worse Purposes.
Susan, from the Account she had received of Mrs. Waters, made not the least Doubt but that she was the very identical Stray whom the right Owner pursued. As she concluded, therefore, with great Appearance of Reason, that she never could get Money in an honester Way than by restoring a Wife to her Husband, she made no Scruple of assuring the Gentleman, that the Lady he wanted was then in the House; and was presently afterwards prevailed upon (by very liberal Promises, and some Earnest paid into her Hands) to conduct him to the Bed-chamber of Mrs. Waters.
It hath been a Custom long established in the polite World, and that upon very solid and substantial Reasons, that a Husband shall never enter his Wife’s Apartment without first knocking at the Door. The many excellent Uses of this Custom need scarce be hinted to a Reader who hath any Knowledge of the World: For by this Means the Lady hath Time to adjust herself, or to remove any disagreeable Object out of the Way; for there are some Situations, in which nice and delicate Women would not be discovered by their Husbands.
To say the Truth, there are several Ceremonies instituted among the polished Part of Mankind, which, tho’ they may, to coarser Judgments, appear as Matters of mere Form, are found to have much of Substance in them, by the more discerning; and lucky would it have been, had the Custom abovementioned been observed by our Gentleman in the present Instance. Knock, indeed, he did at the Door, but not with one of those gentle Raps which is usual on such Occasions. On the contrary, when he found the Door locked, he flew at it with such Violence, that the Lock immediately gave Way, the Door burst open, and he fell headlong into the Room.
He had no sooner recovered his Legs, than forth from the Bed, upon his Legs likewise appeared——with Shame and Sorrow are we obliged to proceed——our Heroe himself, who, with a menacing Voice, demanded of the Gentleman who he was, and what he meant by daring to burst open his Chamber in that outrageous Manner.
The Gentleman at first thought he had committed a Mistake, and was going to ask Pardon and retreat, when, on a sudden, as the Moon shone very bright, he cast his Eyes on Stays, Gowns, Petticoats, Caps, Ribbons, Stockings, Garters, Shoes, Clogs, & c. all which lay in a disordered Manner on the Floor. All these operating on the natural Jealousy of his Temper, so enraged him, that he lost all Power of Speech; and without returning any Answer to Jones, he endeavoured to approach the Bed.
Jones immediately interposing, a fierce Contention arose, which soon proceeded to Blows on both Sides. And now Mrs. Waters (for we must confess she was in the same Bed) being, I suppose, awakened from her Sleep, and seeing two Men fighting in her Bedchamber, began to scream in the most violent Manner, crying out Murder! Robbery! and more frequently Rape! which last, some, perhaps, may wonder she should mention, who do not consider that these Words of Exclamation are used by Ladies in a Fright, as Fa, la, la, ra, da, & c. are in Music, only as the Vehicles of Sound, and without any fixed Ideas.
Next to the Lady’s Chamber was deposited the Body of an Irish Gentleman, who arrived too late at the Inn to have been mentioned before. This Gentleman was one of those whom the Irish call a Calabalaro, or Cavalier. He was a younger Brother of a good Family, and having no Fortune at Home, was obliged to look abroad in order to get one: For which Purpose he was proceeding to the Bath to try his Luck with Cards and the Women.
This young Fellow lay in Bed reading one of Mrs. Behn’s Novels; for he had been instructed by a Friend, that he would find no more effectual Method of recommending himself to the Ladies than the improving his Understanding, and filling his Mind with good Literature.1 He no sooner, therefore, heard the violent Uproar in the next Room, than he leapt from his Bolster, and taking his Sword in one Hand, and the Candle which burnt by him in the other, he went directly to Mrs. Waters’s Chamber.
If the Sight of another Man in his Shirt at first added some Shock to the Decency of the Lady, it made her presently Amends by considerably abating her Fears; for no sooner had the Calabalaro enter’d the Room, than he cry’d out: ‘Mr. Fitzpatrick, what the Devil is the Maning of this?’ Upon which the other immediately answered, ‘O, Mr. Macklachlan, I am rejoiced you are here,—This Villain hath debauched my Wife, and is got into Bed with her.’— ‘What Wife?’ cries Macklachlan, ‘do not I know Mrs. Fitzpatrick very well, and don’t I see that the Lady, whom the Gentleman who stands here in his Shirt is lying in Bed with, is none of her?’
Fitzpatrick now perceiving, as well by the Glimpse he had of the Lady, as by her Voice, which might have been distinguished at a greater Distance than he now stood from her, that he had made a very unfortunate Mistake, began to ask many Pardons of the Lady; and then turning to Jones he said, ‘I would have you take Notice I do not ask your Pardon, for you have bate me; for which I am resolved to have your Blood in the Morning.’
Jones treated this Menace with much Contempt; and Mr. Macklachlan answered, ‘Indeed, Mr. Fitzpatrick, you may be ashamed of your ownself, to disturb People at this Time of Night: If all the People in the Inn were not asleep, you would have awakened them as you have me. The Gentleman has served you very rightly. Upon my Conscience, tho’ I have no Wife, if you had treated her so, I would have cut your Throat.’
Jones was so confounded with his Fears for his Lady’s Reputation, that he knew neither what to say or do; but the Invention of Women is, as hath been observed, much readier than that of Men. She recollected that there was a Communication between her Chamber and that of Mr. Jones; relying, therefore, on his Honour and her own Assurance, she answered, ‘I know not what you mean, Villains! I am Wife to none of you. Help! Rape! Murder! Rape!’—And now the Landlady coming into the Room, Mrs. Waters fell upon her with the utmost Virulence, saying, ‘She thought herself in a sober Inn, and not in a Bawdy House; but that a Set of Villains had broke into her Room, with an Intent upon her Honour, if not upon her Life; and both, she said, were equally dear to her.’
The Landlady now began to roar as loudly as the poor Woman in Bed had done before. She cry’d, ‘She was undone, and that the Reputation of her House, which was never blown upon before, was utterly destroyed.’ Then turning to the Men, she cry’d, ‘What, in the Devil’s Name, is the Reason of all this Disturbance in the Lady’s Room?’ Fitzpatrick, hanging down his Head, repeated,
‘that he had committed a Mistake, for which he heartily asked Pardon,’ and then retired with his Countryman. Jones, who was too ingenious to have missed the Hint given him by his Fair One, boldly asserted, ‘That he had run to her Assistance upon hearing the Door broke open; with what Design he could not conceive, unless of robbing the Lady; which if they intended, he said, he had the good Fortune to prevent.’ ‘I never had a Robbery committed in my House since I have kept it,’ cries the Landlady: ‘I wou’d have you to know, Sir, I harbour no Highwaymen here; I scorn the Word, thof I say it. None but honest, good Gentlefolks, are welcome to my House; and, I thank good Luck, I have always had enow of such Customers; indeed as many as I could entertain. Here hath been my Lord——’ and then she repeated over a Catalogue of Names and Titles, many of which we might, perhaps, be guilty of a Breach of Privilege by inserting.
Jones, after much Patience, at length interrupted her, by making an Apology to Mrs. Waters, for having appeared before her in his Shirt, assuring her, ‘That nothing but a Concern for her Safety could have prevailed on him to do it.’ The Reader may inform himself of her Answer, and, indeed, of her whole Behaviour to the End of the Scene, by considering the Situation which she affected, it being that of a modest Lady, who was awakened out of her Sleep by three strange Men in her Chamber. This was the Part which she undertook to perform; and, indeed, she executed it so well, that none of our Theatrical Actresses could exceed her, in any of their Performances, either on or off the Stage.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 60