The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  My good Landlady was (according to vulgar Phrase) struck all of a Heap by this Relation. She answered coldly, ‘That to be sure People were the best Judges what was most proper for their Circumstances.—But hark,’ says she, ‘I think I hear somebody call. Coming! coming! the Devil’s in all our Volk, nobody hath any Ears. I must go down Stairs; if you want any more Breakfast, the Maid will come up. Coming!’ At which Words, without taking any Leave, she flung out of the Room: For the lower Sort of People are very tenacious of Respect; and tho’ they are contented to give this gratis to Persons of Quality, yet they never confer it on those of their own Order without taking care to be well paid for their Pains.

  CHAPTER III.

  In which the Surgeon makes his second Appearance.

  Before we proceed any farther, that the Reader may not be mistaken in imagining the Landlady knew more than she did, nor surprized that she knew so much, it may be necessary to inform him, that the Lieutenant had acquainted her that the Name of Sophia had been the Occasion of the Quarrel; and as for the rest of her Knowledge, the sagacious Reader will observe how she came by it in the preceding Scene. Great Curiosity was indeed mixed with her Virtues; and she never willingly suffered any one to depart from her House without enquiring as much as possible into their Names, Families and Fortunes.

  She was no sooner gone than Jones, instead of animadverting on her Behaviour, reflected that he was in the same Bed, which he was informed had held his dear Sophia. This occasioned a thousand fond and tender Thoughts, which we would dwell longer upon, did we not consider that such kind of Lovers will make a very inconsiderable Part of our Readers.

  In this Situation the Surgeon found him, when he came to dress his Wound. The Doctor, perceiving, upon Examination, that his Pulse was disordered, and hearing that he had not slept, declared that he was in great Danger: For he apprehended a Fever was coming on; which he would have prevented by Bleeding, but Jones would not submit, declaring he would lose no more Blood; and ‘Doctor,’ says he, ‘if you will be so kind only to dress my Head, I have no doubt of being well in a Day or two.’

  ‘I wish,’ answered the Surgeon, ‘I could assure your being well in a Month or two. Well, indeed! No, no, People are not so soon well of such Contusions; but, Sir, I am not at this Time of Day to be instructed in my Operations by a Patient, and I insist on making a Revulsion1 before I dress you.’

  Jones persisted obstinately in his Refusal, and the Doctor at last yielded; telling him at the same Time, that he would not be answerable for the ill Consequence, and hoped he would do him the Justice to acknowledge that he had given him a contrary Advice; which the Patient promised he would.

  The Doctor retired into the Kitchin, where, addressing himself to the Landlady, he complained bitterly of the undutiful Behaviour of his Patient, who would not be blooded, though he was in a Fever.

  ‘It is an eating Fever then,’ says the Landlady: ‘For he hath devoured two swinging buttered Toasts this Morning for Breakfast.’

  ‘Very likely,’ says the Doctor; ‘I have known People eat in a Fever; and it is very easily accounted for; because the Acidity occasioned by the febrile Matter, may stimulate the Nerves of the Diaphragm, and thereby occasion a Craving, which will not be easily distinguishable from a natural Appetite; but the Aliment will not be concreted, nor assimilated into Chyle, and so will corrode the vascular Orifices, and thus will aggravate the febrific Symptoms. Indeed I think the Gentleman in a very dangerous Way, and, if he is not blooded, I am afraid will die.’

  ‘Every Man must die some Time or other,’ answered the good Woman; ‘it is no Business of mine. I hope, Doctor, you would not have me hold him while you bleed him.——But, harkee, a Word in your Ear; I would advise you before you proceed too far, to take care who is to be your Paymaster.’

  ‘Paymaster!’ said the Doctor, staring, ‘why, I’ve a Gentleman under my Hands, have I not?’

  ‘I imagined so as well as you,’ said the Landlady; ‘but as my first Husband used to say, every Thing is not what it looks to be. He is an arrant Scrub, I assure you. However, take no Notice that I mentioned any thing to you of the Matter; but I think People in Business oft always to let one another know such Things.’

  ‘And have I suffered such a Fellow as this,’ cries the Doctor, in a Passion, ‘to instruct me? Shall I hear my Practice insulted by one who will not pay me! I am glad I have made this Discovery in Time. I will see now whether he will be blooded or no.’ He then immediately went up Stairs, and flinging open the Door of the Chamber with much Violence, awaked poor Jones from a very sound Nap, into which he was fallen, and what was still worse, from a delicious Dream concerning Sophia.

  ‘Will you be blooded or no?’ cries the Doctor, in a Rage. ‘I have told you my Resolution already,’ answered Jones, ‘and I wish with all my Heart you had taken my Answer: For you have awaked me out of the sweetest Sleep which I ever had in my Life.’

  ‘Ay, ay,’ cries the Doctor, ‘many a Man hath dosed away his Life. Sleep is not always good, no more than Food; but remember I demand of you for the last Time, will you be blooded?’ ‘I answer you for the last Time,’ said Jones, ‘I will not.’ ‘Then I wash my Hands of you,’ cries the Doctor; ‘and I desire you to pay me for the Trouble I have had already. Two Journeys at 5 s. each, two Dressings at 5 s. more, and half a Crown for Phlebotomy.’ ‘I hope,’ said Jones, ‘you don’t intend to leave me in this Condition.’ ‘Indeed but I shall,’ said the other. ‘Then,’ said Jones, ‘you have used me rascally, and I will not pay you a Farthing.’ ‘Very well,’ cries the Doctor, ‘the first Loss is the best. What a Pox did my Landlady mean by sending for me to such Vagabonds?’ At which Words he flung out of the Room, and his Patient turning himself about soon recovered his Sleep; but his Dream was unfortunately gone.

  CHAPTER IV.

  In which is introduced one of the pleasantest Barbers that was ever recorded in History, the Barber of Bagdad, or he in Don Quixote1not excepted.

  The Clock had now struck Five, when Jones awaked from a Nap of seven Hours, so much refreshed, and in such perfect Health and Spirits, that he resolved to get up and dress himself: for which Purpose he unlocked his Portmanteau, and took out clean Linen, and a Suit of Cloaths; but first he slipt on a Frock, and went down into the Kitchin to bespeak something that might pacify certain Tumults he found rising within his Stomach.

  Meeting the Landlady he accosted her with great Civility, and asked ‘what he could have for Dinner.’ ‘For Dinner!’ says she, ‘it is an odd Time a Day to think about Dinner. There is nothing drest in the House, and the Fire is almost out.’ ‘Well but,’ says he, ‘I must have something to eat, and it is almost indifferent to me what: For to tell you the Truth, I was never more hungry in my Life.’ ‘Then,’ says she, ‘I believe there is a Piece of cold Buttock and Carrot, which will fit you.’—‘Nothing better,’ answered Jones, ‘but I should be obliged to you, if you would let it be fried.’ To which the Landlady consented, and said smiling, ‘she was glad to see him so well recovered:’ For the Sweetness of our Heroe’s Temper was almost irresistible; besides, she was really no ill-humoured Woman at the Bottom; but she loved Money so much, that she hated every Thing which had the Semblance of Poverty.

  Jones now returned in order to dress himself, while his Dinner was preparing, and was, according to his Orders, attended by the Barber.

  This Barber who went by the Name of little Benjamin, was a Fellow of great Oddity and Humour, which had frequently led him into small Inconveniences, such as Slaps in the Face, Kicks in the Breech, broken Bones, &c. For every one doth not understand a Jest; and those who do, are often displeased with being themselves the Subjects of it. This Vice was, however, incurable in him; and though he had often smarted for it, yet if ever he conceived a Joke, he was certain to be delivered of it, without the least Respect of Persons, Time or Place.

  He had a great many other Particularities in his Character, which I shall not mention, as the Reader will himself very easily perceive them,
on his farther Acquaintance with this extraordinary Person.

  Jones being impatient to be drest, for a Reason which may easily be imagined, thought the Shaver was very tedious in preparing his Suds, and begged him to make haste; to which the other answered, with much Gravity: For he never discomposed his Muscles on any Account. ‘Festina lente2 is a Proverb which I learnt long before I ever touched a Razor.’ ‘I find, Friend, you are a Scholar,’ replied Jones. ‘A poor one,’ said the Barber, ‘non omnia possumus omnes.’ ‘Again!’ said Jones; ‘I fancy you are good at capping Verses.’ ‘Excuse me, Sir,’ said the Barber, ‘non tanto me dignor honore.’ And then proceeding to his Operation, ‘Sir,’ said he, ‘since I have dealt in Suds, I could never discover more than two Reasons for shaving, the one is to get a Beard, and the other to get rid of one. I conjecture, Sir, it may not be long since you shaved, from the former of these Motives. Upon my Word you have had good Success; for one may say of your Beard, that it is Tondenti gravior.’ ‘I conjecture,’ says Jones, ‘that thou art a very comical Fellow.’ ‘You mistake me widely, Sir,’ said the Barber, ‘I am too much addicted to the Study of Philosophy, Hinc illæ Lacrymæ, Sir, that’s my Misfortune. Too much Learning hath been my Ruin.’ ‘Indeed,’ says Jones, ‘I confess, Friend, you have more Learning than generally belongs to your Trade; but I can’t see how it can have injured you.’ ‘Alas, Sir,’ answered the Shaver, ‘my Father disinherited me for it. He was a Dancing-Master; and because I could read, before I could dance, he took an Aversion to me, and left every Farthing among his other Children.——Will you please to have your Temples—O la! I ask your Pardon, I fancy there is Hiatus in manuscriptis. I heard you was going to the Wars: but I find it was a Mistake.’ ‘Why do you conclude so?’ says Jones. ‘Sure, Sir,’ answered the Barber, ‘you are too wise a Man to carry a broken Head thither; for that would be carrying Coals to Newcastle.’

  ‘Upon my Word,’ cries Jones, ‘thou art a very odd Fellow, and I like thy Humour extremely; I shall be very glad if thou wilt come to me after Dinner, and drink a Glass with me; I long to be better acquainted with thee.’

  ‘O dear Sir,’ said the Barber, ‘I can do you twenty Times as great a Favour, if you will accept of it.’ ‘What is that, my Friend?’ cries Jones. ‘Why I will drink a Bottle with you, if you please; For I dearly love Good-nature; and as you have found me out to be a comical Fellow, so I have no Skill in Physiognomy, if you are not one of the best-natured Gentlemen in the Universe.’ Jones now walked down Stairs neatly drest, and perhaps the fair Adonis was not a lovelier Figure; and yet he had no Charms for my Landlady: For as that good Woman did not resemble Venus at all in her Person, so neither did she in her Taste. Happy had it been for Nanny the Chambermaid, if she had seen with the Eyes of her Mistress; for that poor Girl fell so violently in love with Jones in five Minutes, that her Passion afterwards cost her many a Sigh. This Nancy was extremely pretty, and altogether as coy; for she had refused a Drawer, and one or two young Farmers in the Neighbourhood, but the bright Eyes of our Heroe thawed all her Ice in a Moment.

  When Jones returned to the Kitchin, his Cloth was not yet laid; nor indeed was there any Occasion it should, his Dinner remaining in Statu quo, as did the Fire which was to dress it. This Disappointment might have put many a philosophical Temper into a Passion; but it had no such Effect on Jones. He only gave the Landlady a gentle Rebuke, saying, ‘Since it was so difficult to get it heated, he would eat the Beef cold.’ But now the good Woman, whether moved by Compassion, or by Shame, or by whatever other Motive, I cannot tell, first gave her Servants a round Scold for disobeying the Orders which she had never given, and then bidding the Drawer lay a Napkin in the Sun, she set about the Matter in good earnest, and soon accomplished it.

  This Sun, into which Jones was now conducted, was truly named as Lucus a non lucendo;3 for it was an Apartment into which the Sun had scarce ever looked. It was indeed the worst Room in the House; and happy was it for Jones that it was so. However, he was now too hungry to find any Fault; but having once satisfied his Appetite, he ordered the Drawer to carry a Bottle of Wine into a better Room, and expressed some Resentment at having been shewn into a Dungeon.

  The Drawer having obeyed his Commands, he was, after some Time, attended by the Barber; who would not indeed have suffered him to wait so long for his Company, had he not been listening in the Kitchin to the Landlady, who was entertaining a Circle that she had gathered round her with the History of poor Jones, Part of which she had extracted from his own Lips, and the other Part was her own ingenious Composition; ‘for she said he was a poor Parish Boy, taken into the House of Squire Allworthy, where he was bred up as an Apprentice, and now turned out of Doors for his Misdeeds, particularly for making Love to his young Mistress, and probably for robbing the House; for how else should he come by the little Money he hath; And this,’ says she, ‘is your Gentleman, forsooth.’ ‘A Servant of Squire Allworthy!’ says the Barber, ‘what’s his Name?’—‘Why he told me his Name was Jones,’ says she, ‘perhaps he goes by a wrong Name. Nay, and he told me too, that the Squire had maintained him as his own Son, thof he had quarrelled with him now.’ ‘And if his Name be Jones, he told you the Truth,’ said the Barber; ‘for I have Relations who live in that Country, nay, and some People say he is his Son.’ ‘Why doth he not go by the Name of his Father?’ ‘I can’t tell that,’ said the Barber, ‘many People’s Sons don’t go by the Name of their Father.’ ‘Nay,’ said the Landlady, ‘if I thought he was a Gentleman’s Son, thof he was a Bye Blow, I should behave to him in anotherguess Manner; for many of these Bye Blows come to be great Men, and, as my poor first Husband used to say, Never affront any Customer that’s a Gentleman.’

  CHAPTER V.

  A Dialogue between Mr. Jones and the Barber.

  This Conversation passed partly while Jones was at Dinner in his Dungeon, and partly while he was expecting the Barber in the Parlour. And, as soon as it was ended, Mr. Benjamin, as we have said, attended him, and was very kindly desired to sit down. Jones then filling out a Glass of Wine, drank his Health by the Appellation of Doctissime Tonsorum. Ago tibi Gratias, Domine, said the Barber; and then looking very steadfastly at Jones, he said, with great Gravity, and with a seeming Surprize, as if he had recollected a Face he had seen before, ‘Sir, may I crave the Favour to know if your Name is not Jones?’ To which the other answered, that it was. ‘Proh Deûm atque Hominum Fidem,’ says the Barber, ‘how strangely Things come to pass! Mr. Jones I am your most obedient Servant. I find you do not know me, which indeed is no Wonder, since you never saw me but once, and then you was very young. Pray, Sir, how doth the good Squire Allworthy? How doth Ille optimus omnium Patronus?’ ‘I find,’ said Jones, ‘you do indeed know me; but I have not the like Happiness of recollecting you.’— ‘I do not wonder at that,’ cries Benjamin; ‘but I am surprized I did not know you sooner, for you are not in the least altered. And pray, Sir, may I without Offence enquire whither you are travelling this Way?’ ‘Fill the Glass, Mr. Barber,’ said Jones, ‘and ask no more Questions.’ ‘Nay, Sir,’ answered Benjamin, ‘I would not be troublesome; and I hope you don’t think me a Man of an impertinent Curiosity, for that is a Vice which no-body can lay to my Charge; but I ask Pardon, for when a Gentleman of your Figure travels without his Servants, we may suppose him to be, as we say, in Casu incognito, and perhaps I ought not to have mentioned your Name.’ ‘I own,’ says Jones, ‘I did not expect to have been so well known in this Country as I find I am, yet, for particular Reasons, I shall be obliged to you if you will not mention my Name to any other Person, till I am gone from hence.’ ‘Pauca Verba,’ answered the Barber; ‘and I wish no others here knew you but myself; for some People have Tongues; but I promise you I can keep a Secret. My Enemies will allow me that Virtue.’ ‘And yet that is not the Characteristic of your Profession, Mr. Barber,’ answered Jones. ‘Alas, Sir,’ replied Benjamin, ‘Non si male nunc & olim sic erit. I was not born or bred a Barber, I assure you. I have spent most of my Time among
Gentlemen, and tho’ I say it, I understand something of Gentility. And if you had thought me as worthy of your Confidence as you have some other People, I should have shewn you I could have kept a Secret better. I should not have degraded your Name in a public Kitchin; for indeed, Sir, some People have not used you well; for besides making a public Proclamation of what you told them of a Quarrel between yourself and Squire Allworthy, they added Lies of their own, Things which I knew to be Lies.’ ‘You surprize me greatly,’ cries Jones. ‘Upon my Word, Sir,’ answered Benjamin, ‘I tell the Truth, and I need not tell you my Landlady was the Person. I am sure it moved me to hear the Story, and I hope it is all false; for I have a great Respect for you, I do assure you I have, and have had, ever since the Good-nature you shewed to Black George, which was talked of all over the Country, and I received more than one Letter about it. Indeed it made you beloved by every body. You will pardon me, therefore; for it was real Concern at what I heard made me ask many Questions; for I have no impertinent Curiosity about me; but I love Good-nature, and thence became Amori abundantia erga Te.’