Every Profession of Friendship easily gains Credit with the Miserable; it is no wonder, therefore, if Jones, who, besides his being miserable, was extremely open-hearted, very readily believed all the Professions of Benjamin, and received him into his Bosom. The Scraps of Latin, some of which Benjamin applied properly enough, tho’ it did not savour of profound Literature, seemed yet to indicate something superior to a common Barber, and so indeed did his whole Behaviour. Jones therefore believed the Truth of what he had said, as to his Original and Education, and at length, after much Entreaty, he said, ‘Since you have heard, my Friend, so much of my Affairs, and seem so desirous to know the Truth, if you will have Patience to hear it, I will inform you of the whole.’ ‘Patience,’ cries Benjamin, ‘that I will, if the Chapter was never so long, and I am very much obliged to you for the Honour you do me.’
Jones now began, and related the whole History, forgetting only a Circumstance or two, namely, every Thing which passed on that Day in which he had fought with Thwackum, and ended with his Resolution to go to Sea, till the Rebellion in the North had made him change his Purpose, and had brought him to the Place where he then was.
Little Benjamin, who had been all Attention, never once interrupted the Narrative; but when it was ended, he could not help observing, that there must be surely something more invented by his Enemies, and told Mr. Allworthy against him, or so good a Man would never have dismissed one he had loved so tenderly, in such a Manner. To which Jones answered, ‘He doubted not but such villanous Arts had been made use of to destroy him.’
And surely it was scarce possible for any one to have avoided making the same Remark with the Barber; who had not, indeed, heard from Jones, one single Circumstance upon which he was condemned; for his Actions were not now placed in those injurious Lights, in which they had been misrepresented to Allworthy: Nor could he mention those many false Accusations which had been from time to time preferred against him to Allworthy; for with none of these he was himself acquainted. He had likewise, as we have observed, omitted many material Facts in his present Relation. Upon the whole, indeed, every thing now appeared in such favourable Colours to Jones, that Malice itself would have found it no easy Matter to fix any Blame upon him.
Not that Jones desired to conceal or to disguise the Truth; nay, he would have been more unwilling to have suffered any Censure to fall on Mr. Allworthy for punishing him, than on his own Actions for deserving it, but, in Reality, so it happened, and so it always will happen: For let a Man be never so honest, the Account of his own Conduct will, in Spite of himself, be so very favourable, that his Vices will come purified through his Lips, and, like foul Liquors well strained, will leave all their Foulness behind. For tho’ the Facts themselves may appear, yet so different will be the Motives, Circumstances, and Consequences, when a Man tells his own Story, and when his Enemy tells it, that we scarce can recognize the Facts to be one and the same.1
Tho’ the Barber had drank down this Story with greedy Ears, he was not yet satisfied. There was a Circumstance behind, which his Curiosity, cold as it was, most eagerly longed for Jones had mentioned the Fact of his Amour, and of his being the Rival of Blifil, but had cautiously concealed the Name of the young Lady. The Barber therefore, after some Hesitation, and many Hums and Ha’s, at last begged Leave to crave the Name of the Lady, who appeared to be the principal Cause of all this Mischief. Jones paused a Moment, and then said, ‘Since I have trusted you with so much, and since, I am afraid, her Name is become too publick already on this Occasion, I will not conceal it from you. Her Name is Sophia Western.’
‘Proh Deum atque Hominum Fidem! Squire Western hath a Daughter grown a Woman!’ ‘Ay, and such a Woman,’ cries Jones, ‘that the World cannot match. No Eye ever saw any thing so beautiful; but that is her least Excellence. Such Sense! such Goodness! O I could praise her for ever, and yet should omit half her Virtues.’ ‘Mr. Western a Daughter grown up!’ cries the Barber, ‘I remember the Father a Boy; well, Tempus edax Rerum.’
The Wine being now at an End, the Barber pressed very eagerly to be his Bottle;2 but Jones absolutely refused, saying, ‘He had already drank more than he ought; and that he now chose to retire to his Room, where he wished he could procure himself a Book.’ ‘A Book!’ cries Benjamin, ‘what Book would you have? Latin or English? I have some curious Books in both Languages. Such as Erasmi Colloquia, Ovid de Tristibus, Gradus ad Parnassum; and in English I have several of the best Books, tho’ some of them are a little torn; but I have a great Part of Stowe’s Chronicle; the sixth Volume of Pope’s Homer; the third Volume of the Spectator; the second Volume of Echard’s Roman History; the Craftsman; Robinson Crusoe; Thomas a Kempis, and two Volumes of Tom Brown’s Works.’3
‘Those last,’ cries Jones, ‘are Books I never saw, so if you please to lend me one of those Volumes.’ The Barber assured him he would be highly entertained; for he looked upon the Author to have been one of the greatest Wits that ever the Nation produced. He then stepp’d to his House, which was hard by, and immediately returned; after which, the Barber having received very strict Injunctions of Secrecy from Jones, and having sworn inviolably to maintain it, they separated; the Barber went home, and Jones retired to his Chamber.
CHAPTER VI.
In which more of the Talents of Mr. Benjamin will appear, as well as who this extraordinary Person was.
In the Morning Jones grew a little uneasy at the Desertion of his Surgeon, as he apprehended some Inconvenience, or even Danger, might attend the not dressing his Wound; he enquired therefore of the Drawer what other Surgeons were to be met with in that Neighbourhood. The Drawer told him there was one not far off; but he had known him often refuse to be concerned after another had been sent for before him; ‘but, Sir,’ says he, ‘if you will take my Advice, there is not a Man in the Kingdom can do your Business better than the Barber who was with you last Night. We look upon him to be one of the ablest Men at a Cut in all this Neighbourhood. For tho’ he hath not been here above three Months, he hath done several great Cures.’
The Drawer was presently dispatched for little Benjamin, who being acquainted in what Capacity he was wanted, prepared himself accordingly, and attended; but with so different an Air and Aspect from that which he wore when his Bason was under his Arm, that he could scarce be known to be the same Person.
‘So, Tonsor,’ says Jones, ‘I find you have more Trades than one; how came you not to inform me of this last Night?’ ‘A Surgeon,’ answered Benjamin, with great Gravity, ‘is a Profession, not a Trade. The Reason why I did not acquaint you last Night that I professed this Art, was that I then concluded you was under the Hands of another Gentleman, and I never love to interfere with my Brethren in their Business. Ars omnibus communis. But now, Sir, if you please, I will inspect your Head, and when I see into your Skull, I will give my Opinion of your Case.’
Jones had no great Faith in this new Professor; however he suffered him to open the Bandage, and to look at his Wound, which as soon as he had done, Benjamin began to groan and shake his Head violently. Upon which Jones, in a peevish Manner, bid him not play the Fool, but tell him in what Condition he found him. ‘Shall I answer you as a Surgeon, or a Friend?’ said Benjamin. ‘As a Friend, and seriously,’ said Jones. ‘Why then upon my Soul,’ cries Benjamin, ‘it would require a great deal of Art to keep you from being well after a very few Dressings; and if you will suffer me to apply some Salve of mine, I will answer for the Success.’ Jones gave his Consent, and the Plaister was applied accordingly.
‘There, Sir,’ cries Benjamin, ‘now I will, if you please, resume my former Self; but a Man is obliged to keep up some Dignity in his Countenance whilst he is performing these Operations, or the World will not submit to be handled by him. You can’t imagine, Sir, of how much Consequence a grave Aspect is to a grave Character. A Barber may make you laugh, but a Surgeon ought rather to make you cry.’
‘Mr. Barber, or Mr. Surgeon, or Mr. Barber-Surgeon,’ said Jones.—‘O dear Sir,’ answere
d Benjamin, interrupting him, ‘Infandum, Regina, jubes renovare Dolorem. You recall to my Mind that cruel Separation of the united Fraternities,1 so much to the Prejudice of both Bodies, as all Separations must be, according to the old Adage, Vis unita fortior, which to be sure there are not wanting some of one or of the other Fraternity who are able to construe. What a Blow was this to me who unite both in my own Person.’—‘Well, by whatever Name you please to be called,’ continued Jones, ‘you certainly are one of the oddest, most comical Fellows I ever met with, and must have something very surprizing in your Story, which you must confess I have a Right to hear.’ ‘I do confess it,’ answered Benjamin, ‘and will very readily acquaint you with it, when you have sufficient Leisure; for I promise you it will require a good deal of Time.’ Jones told him, He could never be more at Leisure than at present. ‘Well then,’ said Benjamin, ‘I will obey you; but first I will fasten the Door, that none may interrupt us.’ He did so, and then advancing with a solemn Air to Jones, said; ‘I must begin by telling you, Sir, that you yourself have been the greatest Enemy I ever had.’ Jones was a little startled at this sudden Declaration. ‘I your Enemy, Sir!’ says he, with much Amazement, and some Sternness in his Look. ‘Nay, be not angry,’ said Benjamin, ‘for I promise you I am not. You are perfectly innocent of having intended me any Wrong; for you was then an Infant; but I shall, I believe, unriddle all this the Moment I mention my Name. Did you never hear, Sir, of one Partridge, who had the Honour of being reputed your Father, and the Misfortune of being ruined by that Honour?’ ‘I have indeed heard of that Partridge,’ says Jones, ‘and have always believed myself to be his Son.’ ‘Well, Sir,’ answered Benjamin, ‘I am that Partridge; but I here absolve you from all filial Duty; for I do assure you, you are no Son of mine.’ ‘How!’ replied Jones, ‘and is it possible that a false Suspicion should have drawn all the ill Consequences upon you, with which I am too well acquainted?’ ‘It is possible,’ cries Benjamin, ‘for it is so; but tho’ it is natural enough for Men to hate even the innocent Causes of their Sufferings, yet I am of a different Temper. I have loved you ever since I heard of your Behaviour to Black George, as I told you; and I am convinced, from this extraordinary Meeting, that you are born to make me Amends for all I have suffered on that Account. Besides, I dreamt, the Night before I saw you, that I stumbled over a Stool without hurting myself; which plainly shewed me something good was towards me; and last Night I dreamt again, that I rode behind you on a milk-white Mare, which is a very excellent Dream, and betokens much good Fortune,2 which I am resolved to pursue, unless you have the Cruelty to deny me.’
‘I should be very glad, Mr. Partridge,’ answered Jones, ‘to have it in my Power to make you Amends for your Sufferings on my Account, tho’ at present I see no Likelihood of it; however, I assure you I will deny you nothing which is in my Power to grant.’
‘It is in your Power sure enough,’ replied Benjamin; ‘for I desire nothing more than Leave to attend you in this Expedition. Nay, I have so entirely set my Heart upon it, that if you should refuse me, you will kill both a Barber and a Surgeon in one Breath.’
Jones answered smiling, That he should be very sorry to be the Occasion of so much Mischief to the Public. He then advanced many prudential Reasons, in order to dissuade Benjamin (whom we shall hereafter call Partridge) from his Purpose; but all were in vain. Partridge relied strongly on his Dream of the milk-white Mare. ‘Besides, Sir,’ says he, ‘I promise you, I have as good an Inclination to the Cause as any Man can possibly have; and go I will, whether you admit me to go in your Company or not.’
Jones, who was as much pleased with Partridge, as Partridge could be with him, and who had not consulted his own Inclination, but the Good of the other in desiring him to stay behind, when he found his Friend so resolute, at last gave his Consent; but then recollecting himself, he said, ‘Perhaps, Mr. Partridge, you think I shall be able to support you, but I really am not;’ and then taking out his Purse, he told out nine Guineas, which he declared were his whole Fortune.
Partridge answered, ‘That his Dependance was only on his future Favour: For he was thoroughly convinced he would shortly have enough in his Power. At present, Sir,’ said he, ‘I believe I am rather the richer Man of the two; but all I have is at your Service, and at your Disposal. I insist upon your taking the whole, and I beg only to attend you in the Quality of your Servant, Nil desperandum est Teucro duce & auspice Teucro;’3 but to this generous Proposal concerning the Money, Jones would by no means submit.
It was resolved to set out the next Morning, when a Difficulty arose concerning the Baggage; for the Portmanteau of Mr. Jones was too large to be carried without a Horse.
‘If I may presume to give my Advice,’ says Partridge, ‘this Portmanteau, with every Thing in it, except a few Shirts, should be left behind. Those I shall be easily able to carry for you, and the rest of your Clothes will remain very safely locked up in my House.’
This Method was no sooner proposed than agreed to, and then the Barber departed, in order to prepare every thing for his intended Expedition.
CHAPTER VII.
Containing better Reasons, than any which have yet appeared for the Conduct of Partridge; an Apology for the Weakness of Jones; and some farther Anecdotes concerning my Landlady.
Though Partridge was one of the most superstitious of Men, he would hardly, perhaps, have desired to accompany Jones on his Expedition merely from the Omens of the Joint-stool, and white Mare, if his Prospect had been no better than to have shared the Plunder gained in the Field of Battle. In Fact, when Partridge came to ruminate on the Relation he had heard from Jones, he could not reconcile to himself, that Mr. Allworthy should turn his Son (for so he most firmly believed him to be) out of Doors, for any Reason which he had heard assigned. He concluded therefore, that the whole was a Fiction, and that Jones, of whom he had often from his Correspondents heard the wildest Character, had in reality run away from his Father. It came into his Head, therefore, that if he could prevail with the young Gentleman to return back to his Father, he should by that Means render a Service to Allworthy, which would obliterate all his former Anger; nay, indeed, he conceived that very Anger was counterfeited, and that Allworthy had sacrificed him to his own Repution. And his Suspicion, indeed, he well accounted for, from the tender Behaviour of that excellent Man to the Foundling Child; from his great Severity to Partridge, who knowing himself to be innocent, could not conceive that any other should think him quilty; lastly, from the Allowance whic he had privately received long after the Annuity had been publickly taken from him; and which he looked upon as a kind of Smartmoney, or rather by way of Atonement for Injustic: For it is very uncommon, I believe, for Men to ascribe the Benefactions they receive to pure Charity, when they can possibly impute them to any other Motive. If he could by any Means, therefore, persuade the young Gentleman to return home, he doubted not but that he should again be received into the Favour of Allworthy, and well rewarded for his Pains; nay, and should be again restored to his native Country; a Restoration which Ulysses himself never wished more heartily than poor Partridge.
As for Jones, he was well satisfied with the Truth of what the other had asserted, and believed that Partridge had no other Inducements but Love to him, and Zeal for the Cause. A blameable Want of Caution and Diffidence in the Veracity of others, in which he was highly worthy of Censure. To say the Truth, there are but two Ways by which Men become possessed of this excellent Quality. The one is from long Experience, and the other is from Nature; which last, I presume, is often meant by Genius, or great natural Parts; and it is infinitely the better of the two, not only as we are Masters of it much earlier in Life, but as it is much more infallible and conclusive: For a Man who hath been imposed on by ever so many, may still hope to find others more honest; whereas he who receives certain necessary Admonitions from within, that this is impossible, must have very little Understanding indeed, if he ever renders himself liable to be once deceived. As Jones had not this Gift from
Nature, he was too young to have gained it by Experience; for at the diffident Wisdom which is to be acquired this Way, we seldom arrive till very late in Life; which is perhaps the Reason why some old Men are apt to despise the Understandings of all those who are a little younger than themselves.
Jones spent most Part of the Day in the Company of a new Acquaintance. This was no other than the Landlord of the House, or rather the Husband of the Landlady. He had but lately made his Descent down Stairs, after a long Fit of the Gout, in which Distemper he was generally confined to his Room during one half of the Year; and during the rest, he walked about the House, smoaked his Pipe, and drank his Bottle with his Friends, without concerning himself in the least with any Kind of Business. He had been bred, as they call it, a Gentleman, that is, bred up to do nothing, and had spent a very small Fortune, which he inherited from an industrious Farmer his Uncle, in Hunting, Horse-racing, and Cock-fighting, and had been married by my Landlady for certain Purposes, which he had long since desisted from answering: For which she hated him heartily. But as he was a surly Kind of Fellow, so she contented herself with frequently upbraiding him by disadvantageous Comparisons with her first Husband, whose Praise she had eternally in her Mouth; and as she was for the most part Mistress of the Profit, so she was satisfied to take upon herself the Care and Government of the Family, and after a long successless Struggle, to suffer her Husband to be Master of himself.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 49
