Jones shook him very heartily by the Hand, and gave him many Thanks for the kind Offer he had made; but answered, ‘He had not the least Want of that Kind.’ Upon which George began to press his Services more eagerly than before. Jones again thanked him, with Assurances that he wanted nothing which was in the Power of any Man living to give. ‘Come, come, my good Master, answered George, do not take the Matter so much to Heart. Things may end better than you imagine; to be sure you ant the first Gentleman who hath killed a Man, and yet come off.’ ‘You are wide of the Matter, George,’ said Partridge, ‘the Gentleman is not dead, nor like to die. Don’t disturb my Master, at present, for he is troubled about a Matter in which it is not in your Power to do him any good.’ ‘You don’t know what I may be able to do, Mr. Partridge,’ answered George, ‘if his Concern is about my young Lady, I have some News to tell my Master.’——‘What do you say, Mr. George?’ cry’d Jones, ‘Hath any thing lately happened in which my Sophia is concerned? My Sophia! How dares such a Wretch as I mention her so prophanely.’ — ‘I hope she will be yours yet,’ answered George.——‘Why, yes, Sir, I have something to tell you about her. Madam Western hath just brought Madam Sophia home, and there hath been a terrible to do. I could not possibly learn the very Right of it; but my Master he hath been in a vast big Passion, and so was Madam Western, and I heard her say as she went out of Doors into her Chair, that she would never set her Foot in Master’s House again. I don’t know what’s the Matter, not I, but every thing was very quiet when I came out; but Robin, who waited at Supper, said he had never seen the Squire for a long while in such good Humour with young Madam; that he kiss’d her several Times, and swore she should be her own Mistress, and he never would think of confining her any more. I thought this News would please you, and so I slipp’d out, though it was so late, to inform you of it.’ Mr. Jones assured George that it did greatly please him; for though he should never more presume to lift his Eyes towards that incomparable Creature, nothing could so much relieve his Misery as the Satisfaction he should always have, in hearing of her Welfare.
The rest of the Conversation which passed at the Visit, is not important enough to be here related. The Reader will therefore forgive us this abrupt breaking off, and be pleased to hear how this great good Will of the Squire towards his Daughter was brought about.
Mrs. Western, on her first Arrival at her Brother’s Lodging, began to set forth the great Honours and Advantages which would accrue to the Family by the Match with Lord Fellamar, which her Niece had absolutely refused; in which Refusal, when the Squire took the Part of his Daughter, she fell immediately into the most violent Passion, and so irritated and provoked the Squire, that neither his Patience nor his Prudence could bear it any longer; upon which there ensued between them both so warm a Bout at Altercation, that perhaps the Regions of Billingsgate1 never equalled it. In the Heat of this Scolding Mrs. Western departed, and had consequently no Leisure to acquaint her Brother with the Letter which Sophia received, which might have possibly produced ill Effects; but to say Truth I believe it never once occurred to her Memory at this Time.
When Mrs. Western was gone, Sophia, who had been hitherto silent, as well indeed from Necessity as Inclination, began to return the Compliment which her Father had made her, in taking her Part against her Aunt, by taking his likewise against the Lady. This was the first Time of her so doing, and it was in the highest Degree acceptable to the Squire. Again he remembered that Mr. Allworthy had insisted on an entire Relinquishment of all violent Means; and indeed as he made no doubt but that Jones would be hanged, he did not in the least question succeeding with his Daughter by fair Means; he now therefore once more gave a Loose to his natural Fondness for her, which had such an Effect on the dutiful, grateful, tender and affectionate Heart of Sophia, that had her Honour given to Jones, and something else perhaps in which he was concerned, been removed, I much doubt whether she would not have sacrificed herself to a Man she did not like, to have obliged her Father. She promised him she would make it the whole Business of her Life to oblige him, and would never marry any Man against his Consent; which brought the old Man so near to his highest Happiness, that he was resolved to take the other Step, and went to Bed completely drunk.
CHAPTER III.
Allworthy visits old Nightingale; with a strange Discovery that he made on that Occasion.
The Morning after these Things had happened, Mr. Allworthy went according to his Promise to visit old Nightingale, with whom his Authority was so great, that after having sat with him three Hours, he at last prevailed with him to consent to see his Son.
Here an Accident happened of a very extraordinary Kind; one indeed of those strange Chances, whence very good and grave Men have concluded that Providence often interposes in the Discovery of the most secret Villainy, in order to caution Men from quitting the Paths of Honesty, however warily they tread in those of Vice.
Mr. Allworthy, at his Entrance into Mr. Nightingale’s, saw Black George; he took no Notice of him, nor did Black George imagine he had perceived him. However, when their Conversation on the principal Point was over, Allworthy asked Nightingale whether he knew one George Seagrim, and upon what Business he came to his House. ‘Yes,’ answered Nightingale, ‘I know him very well, and a most extraordinary Fellow he is, who, in these Days, hath been able to hoard up 500 l. from renting a very small Estate of 30 l. a Year.’ ‘And is this the Story which he hath told you?’ cries Allworthy. ‘Nay, it is true, I promise you,’ said Nightingale, ‘for I have the Money now in my own Hands, in five Bank Bills, which I am to lay out either in a Mortgage, or in some Purchase in the North of England.’ The Bank Bills were no sooner produced at Allworthy’s Desire, than he blessed himself at the Strangeness of the Discovery. He presently told Nightingale, that these Bank Bills were formerly his, and then acquainted him with the whole Affair. As there are no Men who complain more of the Frauds of Business than Highwaymen, Gamesters, and other Thieves of that Kind; so there are none who so bitterly exclaim against the Frauds of Gamesters, & c. as Usurers, Brokers, and other Thieves of this Kind; whether it be that the one Way of cheating is a Discountenance or Reflection upon the other, or that Money, which is the common Mistress of all Cheats, makes them regard each other in the Light of Rivals; but Nightingale no sooner heard the Story, than he exclaimed against the Fellow in Terms much severer than the Justice and Honesty of Allworthy had bestowed on him.
Allworthy desired Nightingale to retain both the Money and the Secret till he should hear farther from him; and if he should in the mean Time see the Fellow, that he would not take the least Notice to him of the Discovery which he had made. He then returned to his Lodgings, where he found Mrs. Miller in a very dejected Condition, on Account of the Information she had received from her Son-in-law. Mr. Allworthy, with great Chearfulness, told her that he had much good News to communicate; and with little further Preface, acquainted her, that he had brought Mr. Nightingale to consent to see his Son, and did not in the least doubt to effect a perfect Reconciliation between them; though he found the Father more sowered by another Accident of the same Kind, which had happened in his Family. He then mentioned the running away of the Uncle’s Daughter, which he had been told by the old Gentleman, and which Mrs. Miller, and her Son-in-law, did not yet know.
The Reader may suppose Mrs. Miller received this Account with great Thankfulness and no less Pleasure; but so uncommon was her Friendship to Jones, that I am not certain whether the Uneasiness she suffered for his Sake, did not overbalance her Satisfaction at hearing a Piece of News tending so much to the Happiness of her own Family; nor whether even this very News, as it reminded her of the Obligations she had to Jones, did not hurt as well as please her; when her grateful Heart said to her, ‘While my own Family is happy, how miserable is the poor Creature, to whose Generosity we owe the Beginning of all this Happiness!’
Allworthy having left her a little while to chew the Cud (if I may use that Expression) on these first Tidings, told her, he h
ad still something more to impart, which he believed would give her Pleasure. ‘I think,’ said he, ‘I have discovered a pretty considerable Treasure belonging to the young Gentleman, your Friend; but perhaps indeed, his present Situation may be such, that it will be of no Service to him.’ The latter Part of the Speech gave Mrs. Miller to understand who was meant, and she answered with a Sigh, ‘I hope not, Sir.’ ‘I hope so too,’ cries Allworthy, ‘with all my Heart; but my Nephew told me this Morning, he had heard a very bad Account of the Affair.’ — ‘Good Heaven! Sir, said she—Well, I must not speak, and yet it is certainly very hard to be obliged to hold one’s Tongue when one hears’——‘Madam,’ said Allworthy, ‘you may say whatever you please, you know me too well to think I have a Prejudice against any one; and as for that young Man, I assure you I should be heartily pleased to find he could acquit himself of every thing, and particularly of this sad Affair. You can testify the Affection I have formerly borne him. The World, I know, censured me for loving him so much. I did not withdraw that Affection from him without thinking I had the justest Cause. Believe me, Mrs. Miller, I should be glad to find I have been mistaken.’ Mrs. Miller was going eagerly to reply, when a Servant acquainted her, that a Gentleman without desired to speak with her immediately. Allworthy then enquired for his Nephew, and was told, that he had been for some Time in his Room with the Gentleman who used to come to him, and whom Mr. Allworthy guessing rightly to be Mr. Dowling, he desired presently to speak with him.
When Dowling attended, Allworthy put the Case of the Bank Notes to him, without mentioning any Name, and asked in what manner such a Person might be punished. To which Dowling answered, he thought he might be indicted on the Black Act;1 but said, as it was a Matter of some Nicety, it would be proper to go to Council. He said he was to attend Council presently upon an Affair of Mr. Western’s, and if Mr. Allworthy pleased he would lay the Case before them. This was agreed to; and then Mrs. Miller opening the Door, cry’d, ‘I ask Pardon, I did not know you had Company;’ but Allworthy desired her to come in, saying, he had finished his Business. Upon which Mr. Dowling withdrew, and Mrs. Miller introduced Mr. Nightingale the younger, to return Thanks for the great Kindness done him by Allworthy; but she had scarce Patience to let the young Gentleman finish his Speech before she interrupted him, saying, ‘O Sir, Mr. Nightingale brings great News about poor Mr. Jones; he hath been to see the wounded Gentleman, who is out of all Danger of Death, and, what is more, declares he fell upon poor Mr. Jones himself, and beat him. I am sure, Sir, you would not have Mr. Jones be a Coward. If I was a Man myself, I am sure if any Man was to strike me, I should draw my Sword. Do pray, my Dear, tell Mr. Allworthy, tell him all yourself.’ Nightingale then confirmed what Mrs. Miller had said; and concluded with many handsome Things of Jones, who was, he said, one of the best-natured Fellows in the World, and not in the least inclined to be quarrelsome. Here Nightingale was going to cease, when Mrs. Miller again begged him to relate all the many dutiful Expressions he had heard him make use of towards Mr. Allworthy. ‘To say the utmost Good of Mr. Allworthy,’ cries Nightingale, ‘is doing no more than strict Justice, and can have no Merit in it; but indeed I must say, no Man can be more sensible of the Obligations he hath to so good a Man, than is poor Jones. Indeed, Sir, I am convinced the Weight of your Displeasure is the heaviest Burthen he lies under. He hath often lamented it to me, and hath as often protested in the most solemn Manner he hath never been intentionally guilty of any Offence towards you; nay, he hath sworn he would rather die a Thousand Deaths than he would have his Conscience upbraid him with one disrespectful, ungrateful, or undutiful Thought towards you. But I ask Pardon, Sir, I am afraid I presume to intermeddle too far in so tender a Point.’ ‘You have spoke no more than what a Christian ought,’ cries Mrs. Miller. ‘Indeed, Mr. Nightingale,’ answered Allworthy, ‘I applaud your generous Friendship, and I wish he may merit it of you. I confess, I am glad to hear the Report you bring from this unfortunate Gentleman; and if that Matter should turn out to be as you represent it (and indeed I doubt nothing of what you say) I may perhaps, in Time, be brought to think better than lately I have of this young Man: For this good Gentlewoman here, nay all who know me, can witness that I loved him as dearly as if he had been my own Son. Indeed I have considered him as a Child sent by Fortune to my Care. I still remember the innocent, the helpless Situation in which I found him. I feel the tender Pressure of his little Hands at this Moment.—He was my Darling, indeed he was.’ At which Words he ceased, and the Tears stood in his Eyes.
As the Answer which Mrs. Miller made may lead us into fresh Matters, we will here stop to account for the visible Alteration in Mr. Allworthy’s Mind, and the Abatement of his Anger to Jones. Revolutions of this Kind, it is true, do frequently occur in Histories and dramatic Writers, for no other Reason than because the History or Play draws to a Conclusion, and are justified by Authority of Authors; yet though we insist upon as much Authority as any Author whatever, we shall use this Power very sparingly, and never but when we are driven to it by Necessity, which we do not at present foresee will happen in this Work.
This Alteration then in the Mind of Mr. Allworthy, was occasioned by a Letter he had just received from Mr. Square, and which we shall give the Reader in the Beginning of the next Chapter.
CHAPTER IV.
Containing two Letters in very different Stiles.
My worthy Friend,
I informed you in my last, that I was forbidden the Use of the Waters, as they were found by Experience rather to encrease than lessen the Symptoms of my Distemper. I must now acquaint you with a Piece of News, which, I believe, will afflict my Friends more than it hath afflicted me. Dr. Harrington and Dr. Brewster1 have informed me, that there is no Hopes of my Recovery.
I have somewhere read, that the great Use of Philosophy is to learn to die. I will not therefore so far disgrace mine, as to shew any Surprize at receiving a Lesson which I must be thought to have so long studied. Yet, to say the Truth, one Page of the Gospel teaches this Lesson better than all the Volumes of antient or modern Philosophers. The Assurance it gives us of another Life is a much stronger Support to a good Mind, than all the Consolations that are drawn from the Necessity of Nature, the Emptiness or Satiety of our Enjoyments here, or any other Topic of those Declamations which are sometimes capable of arming our Minds with a stubborn Patience in bearing the Thoughts of Death; but never of raising them to a real Contempt of it, and much less of making us think it is a real Good. I would not here be understood to throw the horrid Censure of Atheism, or even the absolute Denial of Immortality, on all who are called Philosophers. Many of that Sect, as well antient as modern, have, from the Light of Reason, discovered some Hopes of a future State; but, in Reality, that Light was so faint and glimmering, and the Hopes were so incertain and precarious, that it may be justly doubted on which Side their Belief turned. Plato himself concludes his Phædon with declaring, that his best Arguments amount only to raise a Probability; and Cicero himself seems rather to profess an Inclination to believe, than any actual Belief in the Doctrines of Immortality.2 As to myself, to be very sincere with you, I never was much in earnest in this Faith, till I was in earnest a Christian.
You will perhaps wonder at the latter Expression; but I assure you it hath not been till very lately, that I could, with Truth, call myself so. The Pride of Philosophy had intoxicated my Reason, and the sublimest of all Wisdom appeared to me, as it did to the Greeks of old, to be Foolishness.3 God hath however been so gracious to shew me my Error in Time, and to bring me into the Way of Truth, before I sunk into utter Darkness for ever.
I find myself beginning to grow weak, I shall therefore hasten to the main Purpose of this Letter.
When I reflect on the Actions of my past Life, I know of nothing which sits heavier upon my Conscience, than the Injustice I have been guilty of to that poor Wretch, your adopted Son. I have indeed not only connived at the Villainy of others, but been myself active in Injustice towards him. Believe me, my dear F
riend, when I tell you on the Word of a dying Man, he hath been basely injured. As to the principal Fact, upon the Misrepresentation of which you discarded him, I solemnly assure you he is innocent. When you lay upon your supposed Death-bed, he was the only Person in the House who testified any real Concern; and what happened afterwards arose from the Wildness of his Joy on your Recovery; and, I am sorry to say it, from the Baseness of another Person (but it is my Desire to justify the Innocent, and to accuse none.) Believe me, my Friend, this young Man hath the noblest Generosity of Heart, the most perfect Capacity for Friendship, the highest Integrity, and indeed every Virtue which can enoble a Man. He hath some Faults, but among them is not to be numbred the least Want of Duty or Gratitude towards you. On the contrary, I am satisfied when you dismissed him from your House, his Heart bled for you more than for himself.
Worldly Motives were the wicked and base Reasons of my concealing this from you so long; to reveal it now I can have no Inducement but the Desire of serving the Cause of Truth, of doing Right to the Innocent, and of making all the Amends in my Power for a past Offence. I hope this Declaration therefore will have the Effect desired, and will restore this deserving young Man to your Favour; the hearing of which, while I am yet alive, will afford the utmost Consolation to,
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 104
