Chapter vii.
The interview between Mr Jones and Mr Nightingale.
The good or evil we confer on others very often, I believe, recoils onourselves. For as men of a benign disposition enjoy their own acts ofbeneficence equally with those to whom they are done, so there arescarce any natures so entirely diabolical, as to be capable of doinginjuries, without paying themselves some pangs for the ruin which theybring on their fellow-creatures.
Mr Nightingale, at least, was not such a person. On the contrary,Jones found him in his new lodgings, sitting melancholy by the fire,and silently lamenting the unhappy situation in which he had placedpoor Nancy. He no sooner saw his friend appear than he arose hastilyto meet him; and after much congratulation said, "Nothing could bemore opportune than this kind visit; for I was never more in thespleen in my life."
"I am sorry," answered Jones, "that I bring news very unlikely torelieve you: nay, what I am convinced must, of all other, shock youthe most. However, it is necessary you should know it. Without furtherpreface, then, I come to you, Mr Nightingale, from a worthy family,which you have involved in misery and ruin." Mr Nightingale changedcolour at these words; but Jones, without regarding it, proceeded, inthe liveliest manner, to paint the tragical story with which thereader was acquainted in the last chapter.
Nightingale never once interrupted the narration, though he discoveredviolent emotions at many parts of it. But when it was concluded, afterfetching a deep sigh, he said, "What you tell me, my friend, affectsme in the tenderest manner. Sure there never was so cursed an accidentas the poor girl's betraying my letter. Her reputation might otherwisehave been safe, and the affair might have remained a profound secret;and then the girl might have gone off never the worse; for many suchthings happen in this town: and if the husband should suspect alittle, when it is too late, it will be his wiser conduct to concealhis suspicion both from his wife and the world."
"Indeed, my friend," answered Jones, "this could not have been thecase with your poor Nancy. You have so entirely gained her affections,that it is the loss of you, and not of her reputation, which afflictsher, and will end in the destruction of her and her family." "Nay, forthat matter, I promise you," cries Nightingale, "she hath myaffections so absolutely, that my wife, whoever she is to be, willhave very little share in them." "And is it possible then," saidJones, "you can think of deserting her?" "Why, what can I do?"answered the other. "Ask Miss Nancy," replied Jones warmly. "In thecondition to which you have reduced her, I sincerely think she oughtto determine what reparation you shall make her. Her interest alone,and not yours, ought to be your sole consideration. But if you ask mewhat you shall do, what can you do less," cries Jones, "than fulfilthe expectations of her family, and her own? Nay, I sincerely tellyou, they were mine too, ever since I first saw you together. You willpardon me if I presume on the friendship you have favoured me with,moved as I am with compassion for those poor creatures. But your ownheart will best suggest to you, whether you have never intended, byyour conduct, to persuade the mother, as well as the daughter, into anopinion, that you designed honourably: and if so, though there mayhave been no direct promise of marriage in the case, I will leave toyour own good understanding, how far you are bound to proceed."
"Nay, I must not only confess what you have hinted," said Nightingale;"but I am afraid even that very promise you mention I have given.""And can you, after owning that," said Jones, "hesitate a moment?""Consider, my friend," answered the other; "I know you are a man ofhonour, and would advise no one to act contrary to its rules; if therewere no other objection, can I, after this publication of herdisgrace, think of such an alliance with honour?" "Undoubtedly,"replied Jones, "and the very best and truest honour, which isgoodness, requires it of you. As you mention a scruple of this kind,you will give me leave to examine it. Can you with honour be guilty ofhaving under false pretences deceived a young woman and her family,and of having by these means treacherously robbed her of herinnocence? Can you, with honour, be the knowing, the wilful occasion,nay, the artful contriver of the ruin of a human being? Can you, withhonour, destroy the fame, the peace, nay, probably, both the life andsoul too, of this creature? Can honour bear the thought, that thiscreature is a tender, helpless, defenceless, young woman? A youngwoman, who loves, who doats on you, who dies for you; who hath placedthe utmost confidence in your promises; and to that confidence hathsacrificed everything which is dear to her? Can honour support suchcontemplations as these a moment?"
"Common sense, indeed," said Nightingale, "warrants all you say; butyet you well know the opinion of the world is so contrary to it, that,was I to marry a whore, though my own, I should be ashamed of evershowing my face again."
"Fie upon it, Mr Nightingale!" said Jones, "do not call her by soungenerous a name: when you promised to marry her she became yourwife; and she hath sinned more against prudence than virtue. And whatis this world which you would be ashamed to face but the vile, thefoolish, and the profligate? Forgive me if I say such a shame mustproceed from false modesty, which always attends false honour as itsshadow.--But I am well assured there is not a man of real sense andgoodness in the world who would not honour and applaud the action.But, admit no other would, would not your own heart, my friend,applaud it? And do not the warm, rapturous sensations, which we feelfrom the consciousness of an honest, noble, generous, benevolentaction, convey more delight to the mind than the undeserved praise ofmillions? Set the alternative fairly before your eyes. On the oneside, see this poor, unhappy, tender, believing girl, in the arms ofher wretched mother, breathing her last. Hear her breaking heart inagonies, sighing out your name; and lamenting, rather than accusing,the cruelty which weighs her down to destruction. Paint to yourimagination the circumstances of her fond despairing parent, driven tomadness, or, perhaps, to death, by the loss of her lovely daughter.View the poor, helpless, orphan infant; and when your mind hath dwelta moment only on such ideas, consider yourself as the cause of all theruin of this poor, little, worthy, defenceless family. On the otherside, consider yourself as relieving them from their temporarysufferings. Think with what joy, with what transports that lovelycreature will fly to your arms. See her blood returning to her palecheeks, her fire to her languid eyes, and raptures to her torturedbreast. Consider the exultations of her mother, the happiness of all.Think of this little family made by one act of yours completely happy.Think of this alternative, and sure I am mistaken in my friend if itrequires any long deliberation whether he will sink these wretchesdown for ever, or, by one generous, noble resolution, raise them allfrom the brink of misery and despair to the highest pitch of humanhappiness. Add to this but one consideration more; the considerationthat it is your duty so to do--That the misery from which you willrelieve these poor people is the misery which you yourself havewilfully brought upon them."
"O, my dear friend!" cries Nightingale, "I wanted not your eloquenceto rouse me. I pity poor Nancy from my soul, and would willingly giveanything in my power that no familiarities had ever passed between us.Nay, believe me, I had many struggles with my passion before I couldprevail with myself to write that cruel letter, which hath caused allthe misery in that unhappy family. If I had no inclinations to consultbut my own, I would marry her to-morrow morning: I would, by heaven!but you will easily imagine how impossible it would be to prevail onmy father to consent to such a match; besides, he hath providedanother for me; and to-morrow, by his express command, I am to wait onthe lady."
"I have not the honour to know your father," said Jones; "but, supposehe could be persuaded, would you yourself consent to the only means ofpreserving these poor people?" "As eagerly as I would pursue myhappiness," answered Nightingale: "for I never shall find it in anyother woman.--O, my dear friend! could you imagine what I have feltwithin these twelve hours for my poor girl, I am convinced she wouldnot engross all your pity. Passion leads me only to her; and, if I hadany foolish scruples of honour, you have fully satisfied them: couldmy father be induced to comply with my desires, nothing would bewantin
g to compleat my own happiness or that of my Nancy."
"Then I am resolved to undertake it," said Jones. "You must not beangry with me, in whatever light it may be necessary to set thisaffair, which, you may depend on it, could not otherwise be long hidfrom him: for things of this nature make a quick progress when oncethey get abroad, as this unhappily hath already. Besides, should anyfatal accident follow, as upon my soul I am afraid will, unlessimmediately prevented, the public would ring of your name in a mannerwhich, if your father hath common humanity, must offend him. If youwill therefore tell me where I may find the old gentleman, I will notlose a moment in the business; which, while I pursue, you cannot do amore generous action than by paying a visit to the poor girl. You willfind I have not exaggerated in the account I have given of thewretchedness of the family."
Nightingale immediately consented to the proposal; and now, havingacquainted Jones with his father's lodging, and the coffee-house wherehe would most probably find him, he hesitated a moment, and then said,"My dear Tom, you are going to undertake an impossibility. If you knewmy father you would never think of obtaining his consent.----Stay,there is one way--suppose you told him I was already married, it mightbe easier to reconcile him to the fact after it was done; and, upon myhonour, I am so affected with what you have said, and I love my Nancyso passionately, I almost wish it was done, whatever might be theconsequence."
Jones greatly approved the hint, and promised to pursue it. They thenseparated, Nightingale to visit his Nancy, and Jones in quest of theold gentleman.
History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Page 162