The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  The Simplicity of Partridge set Jones a laughing, and put a final End to his Anger, which had indeed seldom any long Duration in his Mind; and instead of commenting on his Defence, he told him he intended presently to leave those Lodgings, and ordered him to go and endeavour to get him others.

  CHAPTER IV.

  Which we hope will be very attentively perused by young People of both Sexes.

  Partridge had no sooner left Mr. Jones, than Mr. Nightingale, with whom he had now contracted a great Intimacy, came to him, and after a short Salutation, said, ‘So, Tom, I hear you had Company very late last Night. Upon my Soul, you are a happy Fellow, who have not been in Town above a Fortnight, and can keep Chairs waiting at your Door till two in the Morning.’ He then ran on with much common-place Raillery of the same Kind, till Jones at last interrupted him, saying, ‘I suppose you have received all this Information from Mrs. Miller, who hath been up here a little while ago to give me Warning. The good Woman is afraid, it seems, of the Reputation of her Daughters.’ ‘O she is wonderfully nice,’ says Nightingale, ‘upon that Account; if you remember, she would not let Nancy go with us to the Masquerade.’ ‘Nay, upon my Honour, I think she’s in the Right of it,’ says Jones; ‘however I have taken her at her Word, and have sent Partridge to look for another Lodging.’ ‘If you will,’ says Nightingale, ‘we may, I believe, be again together; for to tell you a Secret, which I desire you won’t mention in the Family, I intend to quit the House to-day.’—‘What, hath Mrs. Miller given you Warning too, my Friend?’ cries Jones. ‘No,’ answered the other; ‘but the Rooms are not convenient enough.—Besides, I am grown weary of this Part of the Town. I want to be nearer the Places of Diversion; so I am going to Pallmall.’—‘And do you intend to make a Secret of your going away?’ said Jones. ‘I promise you,’ answered Nightingale, ‘I don’t intend to bilk my Lodgings; but I have a private Reason for not taking a formal Leave.’ ‘Not so private,’ answered Jones; ‘I promise you, I have seen it ever since the second Day of my coming to the House.—Here will be some wet Eyes on your Departure.—Poor Nancy, I pity her, faith!—Indeed, Jack, you have play’d the Fool with that Girl.—You have given her a Longing, which, I am afraid, Nothing will ever cure her of.’— Nightingale answered, ‘What the Devil would you have me do? Would you have me marry her to cure her?’—‘No,’ answered Jones, ‘I would not have had you make Love to her, as you have often done in my Presence. I have been astonished at the Blindness of her Mother in never seeing it.’ ‘Pugh, see it!’ cries Nightingale, ‘What the Devil should she see?’ ‘Why see,’ said Jones, ‘that you have made her Daughter distractedly in Love with you. The poor Girl cannot conceal it a Moment, her Eyes are never off from you, and she always colours every Time you come into the Room. Indeed, I pity her heartily; for she seems to be one of the best natured, and honestest of human Creatures.’ ‘And so,’ answered Nightingale, ‘according to your Doctrine, one must not amuse one’s self by any common Gallantries with Women, for fear they should fall in Love with us.’ ‘Indeed, Jack,’ said Jones, ‘you wilfully misunderstand me; I do not fancy Women are so apt to fall in Love; but you have gone far beyond common Gallantries.’—‘What, do you suppose,’ says Nightingale, ‘that we have been a-bed together?’ ‘No, upon my Honour,’ answered Jones, very seriously, ‘I do not suppose so ill of you; nay, I will go farther, I do not imagine you have laid a regular premeditated Scheme for the Destruction of the Quiet of a poor little Creature, or have even foreseen the Consequence: For I am sure thou art a very good natured Fellow; and such a one can never be guilty of a Cruelty of that Kind; But at the same Time you have pleased your own Vanity, without considering that this poor Girl was made a Sacrifice to it; and while you have had no Design but of amusing an idle Hour, you have actually given her Reason to flatter herself, that you had the most serious Designs in her Favour. Prithee, Jack, answer me honestly: To what have tended all those elegant and luscious Descriptions of Happiness arising from violent and mutual Fondness; all those warm Professions of Tenderness, and generous, disinterested Love? Did you imagine she would not apply them? Or, speak ingenuously, did not you intend she should?’ ‘Upon my Soul, Tom,’ cries Nightingale, ‘I did not think this was in thee. Thou wilt make an admirable Parson—So, I suppose, you would not go to Bed to Nancy now, if she would let you?’—‘No,’ cries Jones, ‘may I be d—n’d if I would.’ ‘Tom, Tom,’ answered Nightingale, ‘last Night; remember last Night.

  —When ev’ry Eye was clos’d, and the pale Moon,

  And silent Stars shone conscious of the Theft.’1

  ‘Lookee, Mr. Nightingale,’ said Jones, ‘I am no canting Hypocrite, nor do I pretend to the Gift of Chastity, more than my Neighbours. I have been guilty with Women, I own it; but am not conscious that I have ever injured any—Nor would I, to procure Pleasure to myself, be knowingly the Cause of Misery to any human Being.’

  ‘Well, well,’ said Nightingale, ‘I believe you, and I am convinced you acquit me of any such Thing.’

  ‘I do, from my Heart,’ answered Jones, ‘of having debauched the Girl, but not from having gained her Affections.’

  ‘If I have,’ said Nightingale, ‘I am sorry for it; but Time and Absence will soon wear off such Impressions. It is a Receipt I must take myself: For to confess the Truth to you, —I never liked any Girl half so much in my whole Life; but I must let you into the whole Secret, Tom. My Father hath provided a Match for me, with a Woman I never saw; and she is now coming to Town, in order for me to make my Addresses to her.’

  At these Words Jones burst into a loud Fit of Laughter; when Nightingale cried, —‘Nay, prithee don’t turn me into Ridicule. The Devil take me if I am not half mad about this Matter! my poor Nancy! Oh Jones, Jones, I wish I had a Fortune in my own Possession.’

  ‘I heartily wish you had,’ cries Jones; ‘for if this be the Case, I sincerely pity you both: But surely you don’t intend to go away without taking your Leave of her?’

  ‘I would not,’ answered Nightingale, ‘undergo the Pain of taking Leave for ten thousand Pound; besides, I am convinced, instead of answering any good Purpose, it would only serve to inflame my poor Nancy the more. I beg therefore, you would not mention a Word of it To-day, and in the Evening, or To-morrow Morning, I intend to depart.’

  Jones promised he would not; and said, upon Reflection he thought, as he had determined and was obliged to leave her, he took the most prudent Method. He then told Nightingale, he should be very glad to lodge in the same House with him; and it was accordingly agreed between them, that Nightingale should procure him either the Ground Floor, or the two Pair of Stairs; for the young Gentleman himself was to occupy that which was between them.

  This Nightingale, of whom we shall be presently obliged to say a little more, was in the ordinary Transactions of Life a Man of strict Honour, and what is more rare among young Gentlemen of the Town, one of strict Honesty too; yet in Affairs of Love he was somewhat loose in his Morals; not that he was even here as void of Principle as Gentlemen sometimes are, and oftener affect to be; but it is certain he had been guilty of some indefensible Treachery to Women, and had in a certain Mystery, called Making Love, practised many Deceits, which, if he had used in Trade he would have been counted the greatest Villain upon Earth.

  But as the World, I know not well for what Reason, agree to see this Treachery in a better Light, he was so far from being ashamed of his Iniquities of this Kind, that he gloried in them, and would often boast of his Skill in gaining of Women, and his Triumphs over their Hearts, for which he had before this Time received some Rebukes from Jones, who always exprest great Bitterness against any Misbehaviour to the fair Part of the Species, who, if considered, he said, as they ought to be, in the Light of the dearest Friends, were to be cultivated, honoured, and caressed with the utmost Love and Tenderness; but, if regarded as Enemies, were a Conquest of which a Man ought rather to be ashamed than to value himself upon it.

  CHAPTER V.

  A short Account of the
History of Mrs. Miller.

  Jones this Day eat a pretty good Dinner for a sick Man, that is to say, the larger Half of a Shoulder of Mutton. In the Afternoon he received an Invitation from Mrs. Miller to drink Tea: For that good Woman having learnt, either by Means of Partridge, or by some other Means natural or supernatural, that he had a Connection with Mr. Allworthy, could not endure the Thoughts of parting with him in an angry Manner.

  Jones accepted the Invitation; and no sooner was the Tea-kettle removed, and the Girls sent out of the Room, than the Widow, without much Preface, began as follows: ‘Well, there are very surprizing Things happen in this World; but certainly it is a wonderful Business, that I should have a Relation of Mr. Allworthy in my House, and never know any Thing of the Matter. Alas! Sir, you little imagine what a Friend that best of Gentlemen hath been to me and mine. Yes, Sir, I am not ashamed to own it; it is owing to his Goodness, that I did not long since perish for Want, and leave my poor little Wretches, two destitute, helpless, friendless Orphans, to the Care, or rather to the Cruelty of the World.

  ‘You must know, Sir, though I am now reduced to get my Living by letting Lodgings, I was born and bred a Gentlewoman. My Father was an Officer of the Army, and died in a considerable Rank: But he lived up to his Pay; and as that expired with him, his Family, at his Death, became Beggars. We were three Sisters. One of us had the good Luck to die soon after of the Small-pox: A Lady was so kind as to take the second out of Charity, as she said, to wait upon her. The Mother of this Lady had been a Servant to my Grandmother; and having inherited a vast Fortune from her Father, which he had got by Pawnbroking, was married to a Gentleman of great Estate and Fashion. She used my Sister so barbarously, often upbraiding her with her Birth and Poverty, calling her in Derision a Gentlewoman, that I believe she at length broke the Heart of the poor Girl. In short, she likewise died within a Twelvemonth after my Father. Fortune thought proper to provide better for me, and within a Month from his Decease I was married to a Clergyman, who had been my Lover a long Time before, and who had been very ill-used by my Father on that Account: For though my poor Father could not give any of us a Shilling, yet he bred us up as delicately, considered us, and would have had us consider ourselves as highly, as if we had been the richest Heiresses. But my dear Husband forgot all this Usage, and the Moment we were become fatherless, he immediately renewed his Addresses to me so warmly, that I, who always liked, and now more than ever esteemed him, soon comply’d. Five Years did I live in a State of perfect Happiness with that best of Men, ’till at last—Oh! cruel, cruel Fortune that ever separated us, that deprived me of the kindest of Husbands, and my poor Girls of the tenderest Parent.— O my poor Girls! you never knew the Blessing which ye lost.—I am ashamed, Mr. Jones, of this womanish Weakness; but I shall never mention him without Tears.’—‘I ought rather, Madam,’ said Jones, ‘to be ashamed that I do not accompany you.’—‘Well, Sir,’ continued she, ‘I was now left a second Time in a much worse Condition than before; besides the terrible Affliction I was to encounter, I had now two Children to provide for; and was, if possible, more pennyless than ever, when that great, that good, that glorious Man, Mr. Allworthy, who had some little Acquaintance with my Husband, accidentally heard of my Distress, and immediately writ this Letter to me. Here, Sir, —here it is; I put it into my Pocket to shew it you. This is the Letter, Sir; I must and will read it to you.

  “Madam,

  I heartily condole with you on your late grievous Loss, which your own good Sense, and the excellent Lessons you must have learnt from the worthiest of Men, will better enable you to bear, than any Advice which I am capable of giving. Nor have I any Doubt that you, whom I have heard to be the tenderest of Mothers, will suffer any immoderate Indulgence of Grief to prevent you from discharging your Duty to those poor Infants, who now alone stand in Need of your Tenderness.

  However, as you must be supposed at present to be incapable of much worldly Consideration, you will pardon my having ordered a Person to wait on you, and to pay you Twenty Guineas, which I beg you will accept ’till I have the Pleasure of seeing you, and believe me to be, Madam, &c.”

  ‘This Letter, Sir, I received within a Fortnight after the irreparable Loss I have mentioned, and within a Fortnight afterwards, Mr. Allworthy, —the blessed Mr. Allworthy, came to pay me a Visit, when he placed me in the House where you now see me, gave me a large Sum of Money to furnish it, and settled an Annuity of 50l. a Year upon me, which I have constantly received ever since. Judge then, Mr. Jones, in what Regard I must hold a Benefactor, to whom I owe the Preservation of my Life, and of those dear Children, for whose Sake alone my Life is valuable.—Do not, therefore, think me impertinent, Mr. Jones, (since I must esteem one for whom I know Mr. Allworthy hath so much Value) if I beg you not to converse with these wicked Women. You are a young Gentleman, and do not know half their artful Wiles. Do not be angry with me, Sir, for what I said upon account of my House; you must be sensible it would be the Ruin of my poor dear Girls. Besides, Sir, you cannot but be acquainted, that Mr. Allworthy himself would never forgive my conniving at such Matters, and particularly with you.’

  ‘Upon my Word, Madam,’ said Jones, ‘you need make no farther Apology; nor do I in the least take any Thing ill you have said: But give me Leave, as no one can have more Value than myself for Mr. Allworthy, to deliver you from one Mistake, which, perhaps, would not be altogether for his Honour: I do assure you, I am no Relation of his.’

  ‘Alas! Sir,’ answered she, ‘I know you are not. I know very well who you are; for Mr. Allworthy hath told me all: But I do assure you, had you been twenty Times his Son, he could not have expressed more Regard for you, than he hath often expressed in my Presence. You need not be ashamed, Sir, of what you are; I promise you no good Person will esteem you the less on that Account. No, Mr. Jones; the Words “dishonourable Birth” are Nonsense, as my dear dear Husband used to say, unless the Word “dishonourable” be applied to the Parents; for the Children can derive no real Dishonour from an Act of which they are intirely innocent.’

  Here Jones heaved a deep Sigh, and then said, ‘Since I perceive, Madam, you really do know me, and Mr. Allworthy hath thought proper to mention my Name to you; and since you have been so explicit with me as to your own Affairs, I will acquaint you with some more Circumstances concerning myself.’ And these Mrs. Miller having expressed great Desire and Curiosity to hear, he began and related to her his whole History, without once mentioning the Name of Sophia.

  There is a Kind of Sympathy in honest Minds, by Means of which they give an easy Credit to each other. Mrs. Miller believed all which Jones told her to be true, and exprest much Pity and Concern for him. She was beginning to comment on the Story, but Jones interrupted her: For as the Hour of Assignation now drew nigh, he began to stipulate for a second Interview with the Lady that Evening, which he promised should be the last at her House; swearing, at the same Time, that she was one of great Distinction, and that nothing but what was intirely innocent was to pass between them; and I do firmly believe he intended to keep his Word.

  Mrs. Miller was at length prevailed on, and Jones departed to his Chamber, where he sat alone till Twelve o’Clock, but no Lady Bellaston appeared.

  As we have said that this Lady had a great Affection for Jones, and as it must have appeared that she really had so, the Reader may perhaps wonder at the first Failure of her Appointment, as she apprehended him to be confined by Sickness, a Season when Friendship seems most to require such Visits. This Behaviour, therefore, in the Lady, may, by some, be condemned as unnatural; but that is not our Fault; for our Business is only to record Truth.

  CHAPTER VI.

  Containing a Scene which we doubt not will affect all our Readers.

  Mr. Jones closed not his Eyes during all the former Part of the Night; not owing it to any Uneasiness which he conceived at being disappointed by Lady Bellaston; nor was Sophia herself, though most of his waking Hours were justly to be charged to her Account, the present Cause of dispe
lling his Slumbers. In Fact, poor Jones was one of the best-natured Fellows alive, and had all that Weakness which is called Compassion, and which distinguishes this imperfect Character from that noble Firmness of Mind, which rolls a Man, as it were, within himself, and, like a polished Bowl, enables him to run through the World, without being once stopped by the Calamities which happen to others.1 He could not help, therefore, compassionating the Situation of poor Nancy, whose Love for Mr. Nightingale seemed to him so apparent, that he was astonished at the Blindness of her Mother, who had more than once, the preceding Evening, remarked to him the great Change in the Temper of her Daughter, ‘who from being,’ she said, ‘one of the liveliest, merriest Girls in the World, was, on a sudden, become all Gloom and Melancholy.’