‘When you consider the Place where I now was, and the Company with whom I was, you will, I fancy, conceive that a very short Time brought me to an End of that Sum of which I had so iniquitously possessed myself.
‘I was now reduced to a much higher Degree of Distress than before; the Necessaries of Life began to be numbred among my Wants; and what made my Case still the more grievous, was, that my Paramour, of whom I was now grown immoderately fond, shared the same Distresses with myself. To see a Woman you love in Distress; to be unable to relieve her, and at the same Time to reflect that you have brought her into this Situation, is, perhaps, a Curse of which no Imagination can represent the Horrors to those who have not felt it.’ ‘I believe it from my Soul,’ cries Jones; ‘and I pity you from the Bottom of my Heart.’ He then took two or three disorderly Turns about the Room, and at last begged Pardon, and flung himself into his Chair, crying, ‘I thank Heaven I have escaped that.’
‘This Circumstance,’ continued the Gentleman, ‘so severely aggravated the Horrors of my present Situation, that they became absolutely intolerable. I could with less Pain endure the raging of my own natural unsatisfied Appetites, even Hunger or Thirst, than I could submit to leave ungratified the most whimsical Desires of a Woman, on whom I so extravagantly doated, that tho’ I knew she had been the Mistress of half my Acquaintance, I firmly intended to marry her. But the good Creature was unwilling to consent to an Action which the World might think so much to my Disadvantage. And as, possibly, she compassionated the daily Anxieties which she must have perceived me suffer on her Account, she resolved to put an End to my Distress. She soon, indeed, found Means to relieve me from my troublesome and perplexed Situation: For while I was distracted with various Inventions to supply her with Pleasures, she very kindly—betrayed me to one of her former Lovers at Oxford, by whose Care and Diligence I was immediately apprehended and committed to Goal.
‘Here I first began seriously to reflect on the Miscarriages of my former Life; on the Errors I had been guilty of; on the Misfortunes which I had brought on myself; and on the Grief which I must have occasioned to one of the best of Fathers. When I added to all these the Perfidy of my Mistress, such was the Horror of my Mind, that Life, instead of being longer desirable, grew the Object of my Abhorrence; and I could have gladly embraced Death, as my dearest Friend, if it had offered itself to my Choice unattended by Shame.
‘The Time of the Assizes soon came, and I was removed by Habeas Corpus to Oxford, where I expected certain Conviction and Condemnation; but, to my great Surprize, none appeared against me, and I was, at the End of the Sessions, discharged for Want of Prosecution. In short, my Chum had left Oxford, and whether from Indolence, or from what other Motive, I am ignorant, had declined concerning himself any farther in the Affair.’
‘Perhaps,’ cries Partridge, ‘he did not care to have your Blood upon his Hands, and he was in the Right on’t. If any Person was to be hanged upon my Evidence, I should never be able to lie alone afterwards, for fear of seeing his Ghost.’
‘I shall shortly doubt, Partridge,’ says Jones, ‘whether thou art more brave or wise.’ ‘You may laugh at me, Sir, if you please,’ answered Partridge; ‘but if you will hear a very short Story which I can tell, and which is most certainly true, perhaps you may change your Opinion. In the Parish where I was born——’ Here Jones would have silenced him; but the Stranger interceded that he might be permitted to tell his Story, and in the mean Time promised to recollect the Remainder of his own.
Partridge then proceeded thus. ‘In the Parish where I was born, there lived a Farmer whose Name was Bridle, and he had a Son named Francis, a good hopeful young Fellow: I was at the Grammar-School with him, where I remember he was got into Ovid’s Epistles, and he could construe you three Lines together sometimes without looking into a Dictionary. Besides all this, he was a very good Lad, never missed Church o’Sundays, and was reckoned one of the best Psalm-singers in the whole Parish. He would indeed now and then take a Cup too much and that was the only Fault he had.’—‘Well, but come to the Ghost,’ cries Jones. ‘Never fear, Sir, I shall come to him soon enough,’ answered Partridge. ‘You must know then, that Farmer Bridle lost a Mare, a sorrel one to the best of my Remembrance; and so it fell out, that this young Francis shortly afterward being at a Fair at Hindon, and as I think it was on—I can’t remember the Day; and being as he was, what should he happen to meet, but a Man upon his Father’s Mare. Frank called out presently, Stop Thief; and it being in the Middle of the Fair, it was impossible, you know, for the Man to make his Escape. So they apprehended him, and carried him before the Justice; I remember it was Justice Willoughby of Noyle,2 a very worthy good Gentleman, and he committed him to Prison, and bound Frank in a Recognizance,3 I think they call it, a hard Word compounded of re and cognosco; but it differs in its Meaning from the Use of the Simple, as many other Compounds do. Well, at last, down came my Lord Justice Page4 to hold the Assizes, and so the Fellow was had up, and Frank was had up for a Witness. To be sure I shall never forget the Face of the Judge, when he began to ask him what he had to say against the Prisoner. He made poor Frank tremble and shake in his Shoes. Well, you Fellow, says my Lord, what have you to say? Don’t stand humming and hawing, but speak out; but however he soon turned altogether as civil to Frank, and began to thunder at the Fellow; and when he asked him, if he had any Thing to say for himself, the Fellow said he had found the Horse. Ay! answered the Judge, thou art a lucky Fellow; I have travelled the Circuit these forty Years, and never found a Horse in my Life; but I’ll tell thee what, Friend, thou wast more lucky than thou didst know of: For thou didst not only find a Horse, but a Halter too, I promise thee. To be sure I shall never forget the Word. Upon which every Body fell a laughing, as how could they help it? Nay, and twenty other Jests he made, which I can’t remember now. There was something about his Skill in Horse-Flesh, which made all the Folks laugh. To be certain the Judge must have been a very brave Man, as well as a Man of much Learning. It is indeed charming Sport to hear Trials upon Life and Death. One Thing I own I thought a little hard, that the Prisoner’s Counsel was not suffered to speak for him, though he desired only to be heard one very short Word; but my Lord would not hearken to him, though he suffered a Counsellor to talk against him for above half an Hour. I thought it hard, I own, that there should be so many of them; my Lord, and the Court, and the Jury, and the Counsellors, and the Witnesses all upon one poor Man, and he too in Chains. Well, the Fellow was hanged, as to be sure it cou’d be no otherwise, and poor Frank could never be easy about it. He never was in the Dark alone, but he fancied he saw the Fellow’s Spirit.’ ‘Well, and is this thy Story?’ cries Jones. ‘No, no,’ answered Partridge; ‘O Lord have Mercy upon me.—I am just now coming to the Matter; for one Night, coming from the Alehouse in a long narrow dark Lane, there he ran directly up against him, and the Spirit was all in White, and fell upon Frank; and Frank, who is a sturdy Lad, fell upon the Spirit again, and there they had a Tussel together, and poor Frank was dreadfully beat: Indeed he made a Shift at last to crawl home; but what with the Beating, and what with the Fright, he lay ill above a Fortnight; and all this is most certainly true, and the whole Parish will bear Witness to it.’
The Stranger smiled at this Story, and Jones burst into a loud Fit of Laughter, upon which Partridge cried, ‘Ay, you may laugh, Sir, and so did some others, particularly a Squire, who is thought to be no better than an Atheist; who forsooth, because there was a Calf with a white Face found dead in the same Lane the next Morning, would fain have it, that the Battle was between Frank and that, as if a Calf would set upon a Man. Besides, Frank told me he knew it to be a Spirit, and could swear to him in any Court in Christendom, and he had not drank above a Quart or two, or such a Matter of Liquor at the Time. Lud have Mercy upon us, and keep us all from dipping our Hands in Blood, I say.’
‘Well, Sir,’ said Jones to the Stranger, ‘Mr. Partridge hath finished his Story, and I hope will give you no future Interruption, if
you will be so kind to proceed.’ He then resumed his Narration; but as he hath taken Breath for a while, we think proper to give it to our Reader, and shall therefore put an End to this Chapter.
CHAPTER XII.
In which the Man of the Hill continues his History.
‘I had now regained my Liberty,’ said the Stranger, ‘but I had lost my Reputation; for there is a wide Difference between the Case of a Man who is barely acquitted of a Crime in a Court of Justice, and of him who is acquitted in his own Heart, and in the Opinion of the People. I was conscious of my Guilt, and ashamed to look any one in the Face, so resolved to leave Oxford the next Morning, before the Day-light discovered me to the Eyes of any Beholders.
‘When I had got clear of the City, it first entered into my Head to return Home to my Father, and endeavour to obtain his Forgiveness; but as I had no Reason to doubt his Knowledge of all which had past, and as I was well assured of his great Aversion to all Acts of Dishonesty, I could entertain no Hopes of being received by him, especially since I was too certain of all the good Offices in the Power of my Mother: Nay, had my Father’s Pardon been as sure, as I conceived his Resentment to be, I yet question whether I could have had the Assurance to behold him, or whether I could, upon any Terms, have submitted to live and converse with those, who, I was convinced, knew me to have been guilty of so base an Action.
‘I hastened therefore back to London, the best Retirement of either Grief or Shame, unless for Persons of a very public Character; for here you have the Advantage of Solitude without its Disadvantage, since you may be alone and in Company at the same Time; and while you walk or sit unobserved, Noise, Hurry, and a constant Succession of Objects, entertain the Mind, and prevent the Spirits from preying on themselves, or rather on Grief or Shame, which are the most unwholesome Diet in the World; and on which (though there are many who never taste either but in public) there are some who can feed very plentifully, and very fatally when alone.
‘But as there is scarce any human Good without its concomitant Evil, so there are People who find an Inconvenience in this unobserving Temper of Mankind; I mean Persons who have no Money; for as you are not put out of Countenance, so neither are you cloathed or fed by those who do not know you. And a Man may be as easily starved in Leadenhall Market as in the Deserts of Arabia.
‘It was at present my Fortune to be destitute of that great Evil, as it is apprehended to be by several Writers, who I suppose were overburthened with it, namely, Money.’ ‘With Submission, Sir,’ said Partridge, ‘I do not remember any Writers who have called it Malorum; but Irritamenta Malorum Effodiuntur opes irritamenta Malorum.’1‘Well, Sir,’ continued the Stranger, ‘whether it be an Evil, or only the Cause of Evil, I was entirely void of it, and at the same Time of Friends, and as I thought of Acquaintance; when one Evening as I was passing through the Inner Temple, very hungry, and very miserable, I heard a Voice on a sudden haling me with great Familiarity by my Christian Name; and upon my turning about, I presently recollected the Person who so saluted me, to have been my Fellow Collegiate; one who had left the University above a Year, and long before any of my Misfortunes had befallen me. This Gentleman, whose Name, was Watson, shook me heartily by the Hand, and expressing great Joy at meeting me, proposed our immediately drinking a Bottle together. I first declined the Proposal, and pretended Business; but as he was very earnest and pressing, Hunger at last overcame my Pride, and I fairly confessed to him I had no Money in my Pocket; yet not without framing a Lie for an Excuse, and imputing it to my having changed my Breeches that Morning. Mr. Watson answered, “I thought, Jack, you and I had been too old Acquaintance for you to mention such a Matter.” He then took me by the Arm, and was pulling me along; but I gave him very little Trouble, for my own Inclinations pulled me much stronger than he could do.
‘We then went into the Friars,2 which you know is the Scene of all Mirth and Jollity. Here when we arrived at the Tavern, Mr. Watson applied himself to the Drawer only, without taking the least Notice of the Cook; for he had no Suspicion but that I had dined long since. However, as the Case was really otherwise, I forged another Falshood, and told my Companion, I had been at the further End of the City on Business of Consequence, and had snapt up a Mutton Chop in Haste; so that I was again hungry and wished he would add a Beef Steak to his Bottle.’ ‘Some People,’ cries Partridge, ‘ought to have good Memories, or did you find just Money enough in your Breeches to pay for the Mutton Chop?’ ‘Your Observation is right,’ answered the Stranger, ‘and I believe such Blunders are inseparable from all dealing in Untruth.—But to proceed—I began now to feel myself extremely happy. The Meat and Wine soon revived my Spirits to a high Pitch, and I enjoyed much Pleasure in the Conversation of my old Acquaintance, the rather, as I thought him entirely ignorant of what had happened at the University since his leaving it.
‘But he did not suffer me to remain long in this agreeable Delusion; for taking a Bumper in one Hand, and holding me by the other, “Here, my Boy,” cries he, “here’s wishing you Joy of your being so honourably acquitted of that Affair laid to your Charge.” I was Thunderstruck with Confusion at those Words, which Watson observing, proceeded thus——“Nay, never be ashamed, Man; thou hast been acquitted, and no one now dares call thee guilty; but prithee do tell me, who am thy Friend, I hope thou didst really rob him; for rat me if it was not a meritorious Action to strip such a sneaking pitiful Rascal, and instead of the Two hundred Guineas, I wish you had taken as many thousand. Come, come, my Boy, don’t be shy of confessing to me, you are not now brought before one of the Pimps. D—n me, if I don’t honour you for it; for, as I hope for Salvation, I would have made no manner of Scruple of doing the same Thing.”
‘This Declaration a little relieved my Abashment, and as Wine had now somewhat opened my Heart, I very freely acknowledged the Robbery, but acquainted him that he had been misinformed as to the Sum taken, which was little more than a fifth Part of what he had mentioned.
‘“I am sorry for it with all my Heart,” quoth he, “and I wish thee better Success another Time. Tho’ if you will take my Advice, you shall have no Occasion to run any Such Risque. Here,” said he, (taking some Dice out of his Pocket) “here’s the Stuff. Here are the Implements; here are the little Doctors which cure the Distempers of the Purse. Follow but my Counsel, and I will shew you a Way to empty the Pocket of a Queer Cull without any Danger of the Nubbing Cheat.”’
‘Nubbing Cheat,’ cries Partridge, ‘Pray, Sir, what is that?’
‘Why that, Sir,’ says the Stranger, ‘is a Cant Phrase for the Gallows;3 for as Gamesters differ little from Highwaymen in their Morals, so do they very much resemble them in their Language.
‘We had now each drank our Bottle, when Mr. Watson said, the Board was sitting, and that he must attend, earnestly pressing me, at the same Time, to go with him and try my Fortune. I answered, he knew that was at present out of my Power, as I had informed him of the Emptiness of my Pocket. To say the Truth, I doubted not, from his many strong Expressions of Friendship, but that he would offer to lend me a small Sum for that Purpose; but he answered, “Never mind that, Man, e’en boldly run a Levant;” (Partridge was going to enquire the Meaning of that Word; but Jones stopped his Mouth;) “but be circumspect as to the Man. I will tip you the proper Person, which may be necessary, as you do not know the Town, nor can distinguish a Rum Cull from a Queer one.”
‘The Bill was now brought, when Watson paid his Share, and was departing. I reminded him, not without blushing, of my having no Money. He answered, “That signifies nothing, score it behind the Door, or make a bold Brush, and take no Notice—Or—stay,” says he, “I will go down Stairs first, and then do you take up my Money, and score the whole Reckoning at the Bar, and I will wait for you at the Corner.” I expressed some Dislike at this, and hinted my Expectations that he would have deposited the whole; but he swore he had not another Sixpence in his Pocket.
‘He then went down, and I was prevailed on to take up the Money and follow h
im, which I did close enough to hear him tell the Drawer the Reckoning was upon the Table. The Drawer passed by me up Stairs; but I made such Haste into the Street, that I heard nothing of his Disappointment, nor did I mention a Syllable at the Bar, according to my Instructions.
‘We now went directly to the Gaming Table, where Mr. Watson to my Surprize, pulled out a large Sum of Money, and placed it before him, as did many others; all of them, no doubt, considering their own Heaps as so many decoy Birds, which were to entice and draw over the Heaps of their Neighbours.
‘Here it would be tedious to relate all the Freaks which Fortune, or rather the Dice, played in this her Temple. Mountains of Gold were in a few Moments reduced to nothing at one Part of the Table, and rose as suddenly in another. The rich grew in a Moment poor, and the Poor as suddenly became rich; so that it seemed a Philosopher could no where have so well instructed his Pupils in the Contempt of Riches, at least he could no where have better inculcated the Incertainty of their Duration.
‘For my own Part, after having considerably improved my small Estate, I at last entirely demolished it. Mr. Watson too, after much Variety of Luck, rose from the Table in some Heat, and declared he had lost a cool Hundred, and would play no longer. Then coming up to me, he asked me to return with him to the Tavern; but I positively refused, saying, I would not bring myself a second Time into such a Dilemma, and especially as he had lost all his Money, and was now in my own Condition. “Pooh,” says he, “I have just borrowed a couple of Guineas of a Friend; and one of them is at your Service.” He immediately put one of them into my Hand, and I no longer resisted his Inclination.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 53
