‘I was at first a little shocked at returning to the same House whence we had departed in so unhandsome a Manner; but when the Drawer, with very civil Address, told us, “he believed we had forgot to pay our Reckoning,” I became perfectly easy, and very readily gave him a Guinea, bid him pay himself, and acquiesced in the unjust Charge which had been laid on my Memory.
‘Mr. Watson now bespoke the most extravagant Supper he could well think of, and tho’ he had contented himself with simple Claret before, nothing now but the most precious Burgundy would serve his Purpose.
‘Our Company was soon encreased by the Addition of several Gentlemen from the Gaming Table; most of whom, as I afterwards found, came not to the Tavern to drink, but in the Way of Business: for the true Gamesters pretended to be ill, and refused their Glass, while they plied heartily two young Fellows, who were to be afterwards pillaged, as indeed they were without Mercy. Of this Plunder I had the good Fortune to be a Sharer, tho’ I was not yet let into the Secret.
‘There was one remarkable Accident attended this Tavern Play; for the Money, by Degrees, totally disappeared, so that tho’ at the Beginning the Table was half covered with Gold, yet before the Play ended, which it did not till the next Day, being Sunday, at Noon, there was scarce a single Guinea to be seen on the Table; and this was the stranger, as every Person present except myself declared he had lost; and what was become of the Money, unless the Devil himself carried it away, is difficult to determine.’
‘Most certainly he did,’ says Partridge, ‘for evil Spirits can carry away any thing without being seen, tho’ there were never so many Folk in the Room; and I should not have been surprized if he had carried away all the Company of a set of wicked Wretches, who were at play in Sermon-time. And I could tell you a true Story, if I would, where the Devil took a Man out of Bed from another Man’s Wife, and carried him away through the Key-hole of the Door. I’ve seen the very House where it was done, and no Body hath lived in it these thirty Years.’
Tho’ Jones was a little offended by the Impertinence of Partridge, he could not however avoid smiling at his Simplicity. The Stranger did the same, and then proceeded with his Story, as will be seen in the next Chapter.
CHAPTER XIII.
In which the foregoing Story is farther continued.
‘My Fellow Collegiate had now entered me in a new Scene of Life. I soon became acquainted with the whole Fraternity of Sharpers, and was let into their Secrets. I mean into the Knowledge of those gross Cheats which are proper to impose upon the raw and unexperienced: For there are some Tricks of a finer Kind, which are known only to a few of the Gang, who are at the Head of their Profession; a Degree of Honour beyond my Expectation; for Drink, to which I was immoderately addicted, and the natural Warmth of my Passions, prevented me from arriving at any great Success in an Art, which requires as much Coolness as the most austere School of Philosophy.
‘Mr. Watson, with whom I now lived in the closest Amity, had unluckily the former Failing to a very great Excess; so that instead of making a Fortune by his Profession, as some others did, he was alternately rich and poor, and was often obliged to surrender to his cooler Friends over a Bottle which they never tasted, that Plunder that he had taken from Culls at the publick Table.
‘However, we both made a Shift to pick up an uncomfortable Livelihood, and for two Years I continued of the Calling, during which Time I tasted all the Varieties of Fortune; sometimes flourishing in Affluence, and at others being obliged to struggle with almost incredible Difficulties. To-day wallowing in Luxury, and To-morrow reduced to the coarsest and most homely Fare. My fine Clothes being often on my Back in the Evening, and at the Pawnshop the next Morning.
‘One Night as I was returning Pennyless from the Gaming-table, I observed a very great Disturbance, and a large Mob gathered together in the Street. As I was in no Danger from Pick-pockets, I ventured into the Croud, where, upon Enquiry, I found that a Man had been robbed and very ill used by some Ruffians. The wounded Man appeared very bloody, and seemed scarce able to support himself on his Legs. As I had not therefore been deprived of my Humanity by my present Life and Conversation, tho’ they had left me very little of either Honesty or Shame, I immediately offered my Assistance to the unhappy Person, who thankfully accepted it, and putting himself under my Conduct, begged me to convey him to some Tavern, where he might send for a Surgeon, being, as he said, faint with Loss of Blood. He seemed indeed highly pleased at finding one who appeared in the Dress of a Gentleman: For as to all the rest of the Company present, their Outside was such that he could not wisely place any Confidence in them.
‘I took the poor Man by the Arm, and led him to the Tavern where we kept our Rendezvous, as it happened to be the nearest at Hand. A Surgeon happening luckily to be in the House, immediately attended, and applied himself to dressing his Wounds, which I had the Pleasure to hear were not likely to be mortal.
‘The Surgeon having very expeditiously and dextrously finished his Business, began to enquire in what Part of the Town the wounded Man lodged; who answered, “That he was come to Town that very Morning; that his Horse was at an Inn in Piccadilly, and that he had no other Lodging, and very little or no Acquaintance in Town.”
‘This Surgeon, whose Name I have forgot, tho’ I remember it began with an R, had the first Character in his Profession, and was Serjeant-Surgeon to the King.1 He had moreover many good Qualities, and was a very generous, good-natured Man, and ready to do any Service to his Fellow-Creatures. He offered his Patient the Use of his Chariot to carry him to his Inn, and at the same Time whispered in his Ear, “That if he wanted any Money, he would furnish him.”
‘The poor Man was not now capable of returning Thanks for this generous Offer: For having had his Eyes for some Time stedfastly on me, he threw himself back in his Chair, crying, O, my Son! my Son! and then fainted away.
‘Many of the People present imagined this Accident had happened through his Loss of Blood; but I, who at the same Time began to recollect the Features of my Father, was now confirmed in my Suspicion, and satisfied that it was he himself who appeared before me. I presently ran to him, raised him in my Arms, and kissed his cold Lips with the utmost Eagerness. Here I must draw a Curtain over a Scene which I cannot describe: For though I did not lose my Being, as my Father for a while did, my Senses were however so overpowered with Affright and Surprize, that I am a Stranger to what past during some Minutes, and indeed till my Father had again recovered from his Swoon, and I found myself in his Arms, both tenderly embracing each other, while the Tears trickled a-pace down the Cheeks of each of us.
‘Most of those present seemed affected by this Scene, which we, who might be considered as the Actors in it, were desirous of removing from the Eyes of all Spectators, as fast as we could; my Father therefore accepted the kind Offer of the Surgeon’s Chariot, and I attended him in it to his Inn.
‘When we were alone together, he gently upbraided me with having neglected to write to him during so long a Time, but entirely omitted the Mention of that Crime which had occasioned it. He then informed me of my Mother’s Death, and insisted on my returning home with him, saying, “That he had long suffered the greatest Anxiety on my Account; that he knew not whether he had most feared my Death or wished it; since he had so many more dreadful Apprehensions for me. At last he said, a neighbouring Gentleman, who had just recovered a Son from the same Place, informed him where I was, and that to reclaim me from this Course of Life, was the sole Cause of his Journey to London.” He thanked Heaven he had succeeded so far as to find me out by Means of an Accident which had like to have proved fatal to him; and had the Pleasure to think he partly owed his Preservation to my Humanity, with which he profest himself to be more delighted than he should have been with my filial Piety, if I had known that the Object of all my Care was my own Father.
‘Vice had not so depraved my Heart, as to excite in it an Insensibility of so much paternal Affection, tho’ so unworthily bestowed. I presently promised to obe
y his Commands in my Return home with him, as soon as he was able to travel, which indeed he was in a very few Days, by the Assistance of that excellent Surgeon who had undertaken his Cure.
‘The Day preceding my Father’s Journey (before which Time I scarce ever left him) I went to take my Leave of some of my most intimate Acquaintance, particularly of Mr. Watson, who dissuaded me from burying myself, as he called it, out of a simple Compliance with the fond Desires of a foolish old Fellow. Such Solicitations, however, had no Effect, and I once more saw my own Home. My Father now greatly solicited me to think of Marriage; but my Inclinations were utterly averse to any such Thoughts. I had tasted of Love already, and perhaps you know the extravagant Excesses of that most tender and most violent Passion.’ Here the old Gentleman paused, and looked earnestly at Jones; whose Countenance within a Minute’s Space displayed the Extremities of both Red and White. Upon which the old Man, without making any Observations, renewed his Narrative.
‘Being now provided with all the Necessaries of Life, I betook myself once again to Study, and that with a more inordinate Application than I had ever done formerly. The Books which now employed my Time solely were those, as well ancient as modern, which treat of true Philosophy, a Word which is by many thought to be the Subject only of Farce and Ridicule. I now read over the Works of Aristotle and Plato, with the rest of those inestimable Treasures which ancient Greece had bequeathed to the World.
‘These Authors, tho’ they instructed me in no Science by which Men may promise to themselves to acquire the least Riches, or worldly Power, taught me, however, the Art of despising the highest Acquisitions of both. They elevate the Mind, and steel and harden it against the capricious Invasions of Fortune. They not only instruct in the Knowledge of Wisdom, but confirm Men in her Habits, and demonstrate plainly, that this must be our Guide, if we propose ever to arrive at the greatest worldly Happiness; or to defend ourselves with any tolerable Security against the Misery which every where surrounds and invests us.
‘To this I added another Study, compared to which all the Philosophy taught by the wisest Heathens is little better than a Dream, and is indeed as full of Vanity as the silliest Jester ever pleased to represent it. This is that divine Wisdom which is alone to be found in the Holy Scriptures: For they impart to us the Knowledge and Assurance of Things much more worthy our Attention, than all which this World can offer to our Acceptance; of Things which Heaven itself hath condescended to reveal to us, and to the smallest Knowledge of which the highest human Wit unassisted could never ascend. I began now to think all the Time I had spent with the best Heathen Writers, was little more than Labour lost: For however pleasant and delightful their Lessons may be, or however adequate to the right Regulation of our Conduct with Respect to this World only; yet when compared with the Glory revealed in Scripture, their highest Documents will appear as trifling, and of as little Consequence as the Rules by which Children regulate their childish little Games and Pastime. True it is, that Philosophy makes us wiser, but Christianity makes us better Men. Philosophy elevates and steels the Mind, Christianity softens and sweetens it. The Former makes us the Objects of human Admiration, the Latter of Divine Love. That insures us a temporal, but this an eternal Happiness.—But I am afraid I tire you with my Rhapsody.’
‘Not at all,’ cries Partridge; ‘Lud forbid we should be tired with good Things.’
‘I had spent,’ continued the Stranger, ‘about four Years in the most delightful Manner to myself, totally given up to Contemplation, and entirely unembarrassed with the Affairs of the World, when I lost the best of Fathers, and one whom I so entirely loved, that my Grief at his Loss exceeds all Description. I now abandoned my Books, and gave myself up for a whole Month to the Efforts of Melancholy and Despair. Time, however, the best Physician of the Mind, at length brought me Relief.’ ‘Ay, ay, Tempus edax Rerum,’ said Partridge. ‘I then,’ continued the Stranger, ‘betook myself again to my former Studies, which I may say perfected my Cure: For Philosophy and Religion may be called the Exercises of the Mind, and when this is disordered they are as wholesome as Exercise can be to a distempered Body. They do indeed produce similar Effects with Exercise: For they strengthen and confirm the Mind; till Man becomes, in the noble Strain of Horace,
Fortis, & in seipso totus teres atque rotundus,
Externi ne quid valeat per læve morari:
In quem manca ruit semper Fortuna.—’*
Here Jones smiled at some Conceit which intruded itself into his Imagination; but the Stranger, I believe, perceived it not, and proceeded thus.
‘My Circumstances were now greatly altered by the Death of that best of Men: For my Brother, who was now become Master of the House, differed so widely from me in his Inclinations, and our Pursuits in Life had been so very various, that we were the worst of Company to each other; but what made our living together still more disagreeable, was the little Harmony which could subsist between the few who resorted to me, and the numerous Train of Sportsmen who often attended my Brother from the Field to the Table: For such Fellows, besides the Noise and Nonsense with which they persecute the Ears of sober Men, endeavour always to attack them with Affronts and Contempt. This was so much the Case, that neither I myself, nor my Friends, could ever sit down to a Meal with them, without being treated with Derision, because we were unacquainted with the Phrases of Sportsmen. For Men of true Learning, and almost universal Knowledge, always compassionate the Ignorance of others: but Fellows who excel in some little, low, contemptible Art, are always certain to despise those who are unacquainted with that Art.
‘In short, we soon separated, and I went by the Advice of a Physician to drink the Bath Waters: For my violent Affliction, added to a sedentary Life, had thrown me into a kind of paralytic Disorder, for which those Waters are accounted an almost certain Cure. The second Day after my Arrival, as I was walking by the River, the Sun shone so intensely hot (tho’ it was early in the Year) that I retired to the Shelter of some Willows, and sat down by the River-side. Here I had not been seated long before I heard a Person on the other Side the Willows, sighing and bemoaning himself bitterly. On a sudden, having uttered a most impious Oath, he cried, “I am resolved to bear it no longer,” and directly threw himself into the Water. I immediately started, and ran towards the Place, calling at the same Time as loudly as I could for Assistance. An Angler happened luckily to be a fishing a little below me, tho’ some very high Sedge had hid him from my Sight. He immediately came up, and both of us together, not without some Hazard of our Lives, drew the Body to the Shore. At first we perceived no Sign of Life remaining; but having held the Body up by the Heels (for we soon had Assistance enough) it discharged a vast Quantity of Water at the Mouth, and at length began to discover some Symptoms of Breathing, and a little afterwards to move both its Hands and its Legs.
‘An Apothecary, who happened to be present among others, advised that the Body, which seemed now to have pretty well emptied itself of Water, and which began to have many convulsive Motions, should be directly taken up, and carried into a warm Bed. This was accordingly performed, the Apothecary and myself attending.
‘As we were going towards an Inn, for we knew not the Man’s Lodgings, luckily a Woman met us, who after some violent Screaming, told us, that the Gentleman lodged at her House.
‘When I had seen the Man safely deposited there, I left him to the Care of the Apothecary, who, I suppose, used all the right Methods with him; for the next Morning I heard he had perfectly recovered his Senses.
‘I then went to visit him, intending to search out, as well as I could, the Cause of his having attempted so desperate an Act, and to prevent, as far as I was able, his pursuing such wicked Intentions for the future. I was no sooner admitted into his Chamber, than we both instantly knew each other; for who should this Person be, but my good Friend Mr. Watson! Here I will not trouble you with what past at our first Interview: For I would avoid Prolixity as much as possible.’ ‘Pray let us hear all,’ cries Partridge, ‘I
want mightily to know what brought him to Bath.’
‘You shall hear every Thing material,’ answered the Stranger; and then proceeded to relate what we shall proceed to write, after we have given a short breathing Time to both ourselves and the Reader.
CHAPTER XIV.
In which the Man of the Hill concludes his History.
‘Mr. Watson,’ continued the Stranger, ‘very freely acquainted me, that the unhappy Situation of his Circumstances, occasioned by a Tide of Ill-luck, had in a Manner forced him to a Resolution of destroying himself.
‘I now began to argue very seriously with him, in Opposition to this Heathenish, or indeed Diabolical Principle of the Lawfulness of Self-Murder; and said every Thing which occurred to me on the Subject; but to my great Concern, it seemed to have very little Effect on him. He seemed not at all to repent of what he had done, and gave me Reason to fear, he would soon make a second Attempt of the like horrible Kind.
‘When I had finished my Discourse, instead of endeavouring to answer my Arguments, he looked me stedfastly in the Face, and with a Smile said, “You are strangely altered, my good Friend, since I remember you. I question whether any of our Bishops could make a better Argument against Suicide than you have entertained me with; but unless you can find Somebody who will lend me a cool Hundred, I must either hang, or drown, or starve; and in my Opinion the last Death is the most terrible of the three.”
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 54
