‘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 (tho’ 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.2
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 conceive 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 some Body: ‘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 no Body 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 æstiva 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.*
He then filled a Bumper of Wine, and drank 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, tho’ 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 th
is 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; tho’ 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 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, tho’ 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.’1
The Guide, and perhaps his Horse too, were both so attentive to this Discourse, that, either thro’ 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 intreated him ‘to return back, and find out the old Woman, and pacify her. We shall very soon,’ added he, ‘reach the Inn; For tho’ 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 Day-light, 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 tho’ 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 merrymaking 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.’
‘Oh 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 tho’ 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.
‘If you are a Friend,’ cries another of the Men in the Barn, ‘you had better alight till the Storm is over;’ (for indeed it was now more violent than ever) ‘you are very welcome to put up your Horse; for there is sufficient Room for him at one End of the Barn.’
‘You are very obliging,’ returned Jones; ‘and I will accept your Offer for a few Minutes, whilst the Rain continues; and here are two more who will be glad of the same Favour.’ This was accorded with more Good-will than it was accepted: For Partridge would rather have submitted to the utmost Inclemency of the Weather, than have trusted to the Clemency of those whom he took for Hobgoblins; and the poor Post-Boy was now infected with the same Apprehensions; but they were both obliged to follow the Example of Jones; the one because he durst not leave his Horse, and the other because he feared nothing so much as being left by himself.
Had this History been writ in the Days of Superstition, I should have had too much Compassion for the Reader to have left him so long in Suspence, whether Beelzebub or Satan was about actually to appear in Person, with all his Hellish Retinue; but as these Doctrines are at present v
ery unfortunate, and have but few if any Believers, I have not been much aware of conveying any such Terrors. To say Truth, the whole Furniture of the infernal Regions hath long been appropriated by the Managers of Playhouses, who seem lately to have lain them by as Rubbish, capable only of affecting the Upper Gallery;1 a Place in which few of our Readers ever sit.
However, tho’ we do not suspect raising any great Terror on this Occasion, we have Reason to fear some other Apprehensions may here arise in our Reader, into which we would not willingly betray him; I mean, that we are going to take a Voyage into Fairy Land, and to introduce a Set of Beings into our History, which scarce any one was ever childish enough to believe, though many have been foolish enough to spend their Time in writing and reading their Adventures.
To prevent therefore any such Suspicions, so prejudicial to the Credit of an Historian, who professes to draw his Materials from Nature only, we shall now proceed to acquaint the Reader who these People were, whose sudden Appearance had struck such Terrors into Partridge, had more than half frightened the Post-Boy, and had a little surprized even Mr. Jones himself.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 75