The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Henry Fielding - 36

beings, who will, we doubt not, come kindly to our aid on this
occasion.

"Say then, ye Graces! you that inhabit the heavenly mansions of
Seraphina's countenance; for you are truly divine, are always in her
presence, and well know all the arts of charming; say, what were the
weapons now used to captivate the heart of Mr Jones."

"First, from two lovely blue eyes, whose bright orbs flashed lightning
at their discharge, flew forth two pointed ogles; but, happily for our
heroe, hit only a vast piece of beef which he was then conveying into
his plate, and harmless spent their force. The fair warrior perceived
their miscarriage, and immediately from her fair bosom drew forth a
deadly sigh. A sigh which none could have heard unmoved, and which was
sufficient at once to have swept off a dozen beaus; so soft, so sweet,
so tender, that the insinuating air must have found its subtle way to
the heart of our heroe, had it not luckily been driven from his ears
by the coarse bubbling of some bottled ale, which at that time he was
pouring forth. Many other weapons did she assay; but the god of eating
(if there be any such deity, for I do not confidently assert it)
preserved his votary; or perhaps it may not be _dignus vindice nodus_,
and the present security of Jones may be accounted for by natural
means; for as love frequently preserves from the attacks of hunger, so
may hunger possibly, in some cases, defend us against love.

"The fair one, enraged at her frequent disappointments, determined on
a short cessation of arms. Which interval she employed in making ready
every engine of amorous warfare for the renewing of the attack when
dinner should be over.

"No sooner then was the cloth removed than she again began her
operations. First, having planted her right eye sidewise against Mr
Jones, she shot from its corner a most penetrating glance; which,
though great part of its force was spent before it reached our heroe,
did not vent itself absolutely without effect. This the fair one
perceiving, hastily withdrew her eyes, and levelled them downwards, as
if she was concerned for what she had done; though by this means she
designed only to draw him from his guard, and indeed to open his eyes,
through which she intended to surprize his heart. And now, gently
lifting up those two bright orbs which had already begun to make an
impression on poor Jones, she discharged a volley of small charms at
once from her whole countenance in a smile. Not a smile of mirth, nor
of joy; but a smile of affection, which most ladies have always ready
at their command, and which serves them to show at once their
good-humour, their pretty dimples, and their white teeth.

"This smile our heroe received full in his eyes, and was immediately
staggered with its force. He then began to see the designs of the
enemy, and indeed to feel their success. A parley now was set on foot
between the parties; during which the artful fair so slily and
imperceptibly carried on her attack, that she had almost subdued the
heart of our heroe before she again repaired to acts of hostility. To
confess the truth, I am afraid Mr Jones maintained a kind of Dutch
defence, and treacherously delivered up the garrison, without duly
weighing his allegiance to the fair Sophia. In short, no sooner had
the amorous parley ended and the lady had unmasked the royal battery,
by carelessly letting her handkerchief drop from her neck, than the
heart of Mr Jones was entirely taken, and the fair conqueror enjoyed
the usual fruits of her victory."

Here the Graces think proper to end their description, and here we
think proper to end the chapter.



Chapter vi.

A friendly conversation in the kitchen, which had a very common,
though not very friendly, conclusion.


While our lovers were entertaining themselves in the manner which is
partly described in the foregoing chapter, they were likewise
furnishing out an entertainment for their good friends in the kitchen.
And this in a double sense, by affording them matter for their
conversation, and, at the same time, drink to enliven their spirits.

There were now assembled round the kitchen fire, besides my landlord
and landlady, who occasionally went backward and forward, Mr
Partridge, the serjeant, and the coachman who drove the young lady and
her maid.

Partridge having acquainted the company with what he had learnt from
the Man of the Hill concerning the situation in which Mrs Waters had
been found by Jones, the serjeant proceeded to that part of her
history which was known to him. He said she was the wife of Mr Waters,
who was a captain in their regiment, and had often been with him at
quarters. "Some folks," says he, "used indeed to doubt whether they
were lawfully married in a church or no. But, for my part, that's no
business of mine: I must own, if I was put to my corporal oath, I
believe she is little better than one of us; and I fancy the captain
may go to heaven when the sun shines upon a rainy day. But if he does,
that is neither here nor there; for he won't want company. And the
lady, to give the devil his due, is a very good sort of lady, and
loves the cloth, and is always desirous to do strict justice to it;
for she hath begged off many a poor soldier, and, by her good-will,
would never have any of them punished. But yet, to be sure, Ensign
Northerton and she were very well acquainted together at our last
quarters; that is the very right and truth of the matter. But the
captain he knows nothing about it; and as long as there is enough for
him too, what does it signify? He loves her not a bit the worse, and I
am certain would run any man through the body that was to abuse her;
therefore I won't abuse her, for my part. I only repeat what other
folks say; and, to be certain, what everybody says, there must be some
truth in."--"Ay, ay, a great deal of truth, I warrant you," cries
Partridge; "_Veritas odium parit_"--"All a parcel of scandalous
stuff," answered the mistress of the house. "I am sure, now she is
drest, she looks like a very good sort of lady, and she behaves
herself like one; for she gave me a guinea for the use of my
cloaths."--"A very good lady indeed!" cries the landlord; "and if you
had not been a little too hasty, you would not have quarrelled with
her as you did at first."--"You need mention that with my truly!"
answered she: "if it had not been for your nonsense, nothing had
happened. You must be meddling with what did not belong to you, and
throw in your fool's discourse."--"Well, well," answered he; "what's
past cannot be mended, so there's an end of the matter."--"Yes," cries
she, "for this once; but will it be mended ever the more hereafter?
This is not the first time I have suffered for your numscull's pate. I
wish you would always hold your tongue in the house, and meddle only
in matters without doors, which concern you. Don't you remember what
happened about seven years ago?"--"Nay, my dear," returned he, "don't
rip up old stories. Come, come, all's well, and I am sorry for what I
have done." The landlady was going to reply, but was prevented by the
peace-making serjeant, sorely to the displeasure of Partridge, who was
a great lover of what is called fun, and a great promoter of those
harmless quarrels which tend rather to the production of comical than
tragical incidents.

The serjeant asked Partridge whither he and his master were travelling?
"None of your magisters," answered Partridge; "I am no man's servant, I
assure you; for, though I have had misfortunes in the world, I write
gentleman after my name; and, as poor and simple as I may appear now, I
have taught grammar-school in my time; _sed hei mihi! non sum quod
fui_."--"No offence, I hope, sir," said the serjeant; "where, then, if
I may venture to be so bold, may you and your friend be
travelling?"--"You have now denominated us right," says Partridge.
"_Amici sumus._ And I promise you my friend is one of the greatest
gentlemen in the kingdom" (at which words both landlord and landlady
pricked up their ears). "He is the heir of Squire Allworthy."--"What,
the squire who doth so much good all over the country?" cries my
landlady. "Even he," answered Partridge.--"Then I warrant," says she,
"he'll have a swinging great estate hereafter."--"Most certainly,"
answered Partridge.--"Well," replied the landlady, "I thought the first
moment I saw him he looked like a good sort of gentleman; but my
husband here, to be sure, is wiser than anybody."--"I own, my dear,"
cries he, "it was a mistake."--"A mistake, indeed!" answered she; "but
when did you ever know me to make such mistakes?"--"But how comes it,
sir," cries the landlord, "that such a great gentleman walks about the
country afoot?"--"I don't know," returned Partridge; "great gentlemen
have humours sometimes. He hath now a dozen horses and servants at
Gloucester; and nothing would serve him, but last night, it being very
hot weather, he must cool himself with a walk to yon high hill, whither
I likewise walked with him to bear him company; but if ever you catch
me there again: for I was never so frightened in all my life. We met
with the strangest man there."--"I'll be hanged," cries the landlord,
"if it was not the Man of the Hill, as they call him; if indeed he be a
man; but I know several people who believe it is the devil that lives
there."--"Nay, nay, like enough," says Partridge; "and now you put me
in the head of it, I verily and sincerely believe it was the devil,
though I could not perceive his cloven foot: but perhaps he might have
the power given him to hide that, since evil spirits can appear in what
shapes they please."--"And pray, sir," says the serjeant, "no offence,
I hope; but pray what sort of a gentleman is the devil? For I have
heard some of our officers say there is no such person; and that it is
only a trick of the parsons, to prevent their being broke; for, if it
was publickly known that there was no devil, the parsons would be of no
more use than we are in time of peace."--"Those officers," says
Partridge, "are very great scholars, I suppose."--"Not much of
schollards neither," answered the serjeant; "they have not half your
learning, sir, I believe; and, to be sure, I thought there must be a
devil, notwithstanding what they said, though one of them was a
captain; for methought, thinks I to myself, if there be no devil, how
can wicked people be sent to him? and I have read all that upon a
book."--"Some of your officers," quoth the landlord, "will find there
is a devil, to their shame, I believe. I don't question but he'll pay
off some old scores upon my account. Here was one quartered upon me
half a year, who had the conscience to take up one of my best beds,
though he hardly spent a shilling a day in the house, and suffered his
men to roast cabbages at the kitchen fire, because I would not give
them a dinner on a Sunday. Every good Christian must desire there
should be a devil for the punishment of such wretches."--"Harkee,
landlord," said the serjeant, "don't abuse the cloth, for I won't take
it."--"D--n the cloth!" answered the landlord, "I have suffered enough
by them."--"Bear witness, gentlemen," says the serjeant, "he curses the
king, and that's high treason."--"I curse the king! you villain," said
the landlord. "Yes, you did," cries the serjeant; "you cursed the
cloth, and that's cursing the king. It's all one and the same; for
every man who curses the cloth would curse the king if he durst; so for
matter o' that, it's all one and the same thing."--"Excuse me there, Mr
Serjeant," quoth Partridge, "that's a _non sequitur_."--"None of your
outlandish linguo," answered the serjeant, leaping from his seat; "I
will not sit still and hear the cloth abused."--"You mistake me,
friend," cries Partridge. "I did not mean to abuse the cloth; I only
said your conclusion was a _non sequitur_.[*]"--"You
are another," cries the serjeant," an you come to that. No more a
_sequitur_ than yourself. You are a pack of rascals, and I'll prove it;
for I will fight the best man of you all for twenty pound." This
challenge effectually silenced Partridge, whose stomach for drubbing
did not so soon return after the hearty meal which he had lately been
treated with; but the coachman, whose bones were less sore, and whose
appetite for fighting was somewhat sharper, did not so easily brook the
affront, of which he conceived some part at least fell to his share. He
started therefore from his seat, and, advancing to the serjeant, swore
he looked on himself to be as good a man as any in the army, and
offered to box for a guinea. The military man accepted the combat, but
refused the wager; upon which both immediately stript and engaged, till
the driver of horses was so well mauled by the leader of men, that he
was obliged to exhaust his small remainder of breath in begging for
quarter.

[*] This word, which the serjeant unhappily mistook for an affront,
is a term in logic, and means that the conclusion does not follow
from the premises.

The young lady was now desirous to depart, and had given orders for
her coach to be prepared; but all in vain, for the coachman was
disabled from performing his office for that evening. An antient
heathen would perhaps have imputed this disability to the god of
drink, no less than to the god of war; for, in reality, both the
combatants had sacrificed as well to the former deity as to the
latter. To speak plainly, they were both dead drunk, nor was Partridge
in a much better situation. As for my landlord, drinking was his
trade; and the liquor had no more effect on him than it had on any
other vessel in his house.

The mistress of the inn, being summoned to attend Mr Jones and his
companion at their tea, gave a full relation of the latter part of the
foregoing scene; and at the same time expressed great concern for the
young lady, "who," she said, "was under the utmost uneasiness at being
prevented from pursuing her journey. She is a sweet pretty creature,"
added she, "and I am certain I have seen her face before. I fancy she
is in love, and running away from her friends. Who knows but some
young gentleman or other may be expecting her, with a heart as heavy
as her own?"

Jones fetched a heavy sigh at those words; of which, though Mrs Waters
observed it, she took no notice while the landlady continued in the
room; but, after the departure of that good woman, she could not
forbear giving our heroe certain hints on her suspecting some very
dangerous rival in his affections. The aukward behaviour of Mr Jones
on this occasion convinced her of the truth, without his giving her a
direct answer to any of her questions; but she was not nice enough in
her amours to be greatly concerned at the discovery. The beauty of
Jones highly charmed her eye; but as she could not see his heart, she
gave herself no concern about it. She could feast heartily at the
table of love, without reflecting that some other already had been, or
hereafter might be, feasted with the same repast. A sentiment which,
if it deals but little in refinement, deals, however, much in
substance; and is less capricious, and perhaps less ill-natured and
selfish, than the desires of those females who can be contented enough
to abstain from the possession of their lovers, provided they are
sufficiently satisfied that no one else possesses them.



Chapter vii.

Containing a fuller account of Mrs Waters, and by what means she came
into that distressful situation from which she was rescued by Jones.


Though Nature hath by no means mixed up an equal share either of
curiosity or vanity in every human composition, there is perhaps no
individual to whom she hath not allotted such a proportion of both as
requires much arts, and pains too, to subdue and keep under;--a
conquest, however, absolutely necessary to every one who would in any
degree deserve the characters of wisdom or good breeding.

As Jones, therefore, might very justly be called a well-bred man, he
had stifled all that curiosity which the extraordinary manner in which
he had found Mrs Waters must be supposed to have occasioned. He had,
indeed, at first thrown out some few hints to the lady; but, when he
perceived her industriously avoiding any explanation, he was contented
to remain in ignorance, the rather as he was not without suspicion
that there were some circumstances which must have raised her blushes,
had she related the whole truth.

Now since it is possible that some of our readers may not so easily
acquiesce under the same ignorance, and as we are very desirous to
satisfy them all, we have taken uncommon pains to inform ourselves of
the real fact, with the relation of which we shall conclude this book.

This lady, then, had lived some years with one Captain Waters, who was
a captain in the same regiment to which Mr Northerton belonged. She
past for that gentleman's wife, and went by his name; and yet, as the
serjeant said, there were some doubts concerning the reality of their
marriage, which we shall not at present take upon us to resolve.

Mrs Waters, I am sorry to say it, had for some time contracted an
intimacy with the above-mentioned ensign, which did no great credit to
her reputation. That she had a remarkable fondness for that young
fellow is most certain; but whether she indulged this to any very
criminal lengths is not so extremely clear, unless we will suppose
that women never grant every favour to a man but one, without granting
him that one also.

The division of the regiment to which Captain Waters belonged had two
days preceded the march of that company to which Mr Northerton was the
ensign; so that the former had reached Worcester the very day after
the unfortunate re-encounter between Jones and Northerton which we
have before recorded.

Now, it had been agreed between Mrs Waters and the captain that she
would accompany him in his march as far as Worcester, where they were
to take their leave of each other, and she was thence to return to
Bath, where she was to stay till the end of the winter's campaign
against the rebels.

With this agreement Mr Northerton was made acquainted. To say the
truth, the lady had made him an assignation at this very place, and
promised to stay at Worcester till his division came thither; with
what view, and for what purpose, must be left to the reader's
divination; for, though we are obliged to relate facts, we are not
obliged to do a violence to our nature by any comments to the
disadvantage of the loveliest part of the creation.

Northerton no sooner obtained a release from his captivity, as we have
seen, than he hasted away to overtake Mrs Waters; which, as he was a
very active nimble fellow, he did at the last-mentioned city, some few
hours after Captain Waters had left her. At his first arrival he made
no scruple of acquainting her with the unfortunate accident; which he
made appear very unfortunate indeed, for he totally extracted every
particle of what could be called fault, at least in a court of honour,
though he left some circumstances which might be questionable in a
court of law.

Women, to their glory be it spoken, are more generally capable of that
violent and apparently disinterested passion of love, which seeks only
the good of its object, than men. Mrs Waters, therefore, was no sooner
apprized of the danger to which her lover was exposed, than she lost
every consideration besides that of his safety; and this being a
matter equally agreeable to the gentleman, it became the immediate
subject of debate between them.

After much consultation on this matter, it was at length agreed that
the ensign should go across the country to Hereford, whence he might
find some conveyance to one of the sea-ports in Wales, and thence
might make his escape abroad. In all which expedition Mrs Waters
declared she would bear him company; and for which she was able to
furnish him with money, a very material article to Mr Northerton, she
having then in her pocket three bank-notes to the amount of £90,
besides some cash, and a diamond ring of pretty considerable value on
her finger. All which she, with the utmost confidence, revealed to
this wicked man, little suspecting she should by these means inspire
him with a design of robbing her. Now, as they must, by taking horses
from Worcester, have furnished any pursuers with the means of
hereafter discovering their route, the ensign proposed, and the lady
presently agreed, to make their first stage on foot; for which purpose
the hardness of the frost was very seasonable.

The main part of the lady's baggage was already at Bath, and she had
nothing with her at present besides a very small quantity of linen,
which the gallant undertook to carry in his own pockets. All things,
therefore, being settled in the evening, they arose early the next
morning, and at five o'clock departed from Worcester, it being then
above two hours before day, but the moon, which was then at the full,
gave them all the light she was capable of affording.

Mrs Waters was not of that delicate race of women who are obliged to
the invention of vehicles for the capacity of removing themselves from
one place to another, and with whom consequently a coach is reckoned
among the necessaries of life. Her limbs were indeed full of strength
and agility, and, as her mind was no less animated with spirit, she
was perfectly able to keep pace with her nimble lover.

Having travelled on for some miles in a high road, which Northerton
said he was informed led to Hereford, they came at the break of day to
the side of a large wood, where he suddenly stopped, and, affecting to
meditate a moment with himself, expressed some apprehensions from
travelling any longer in so public a way. Upon which he easily
persuaded his fair companion to strike with him into a path which
seemed to lead directly through the wood, and which at length brought
them both to the bottom of Mazard Hill.

Whether the execrable scheme which he now attempted to execute was the
effect of previous deliberation, or whether it now first came into his
head, I cannot determine. But being arrived in this lonely place,
where it was very improbable he should meet with any interruption, he
suddenly slipped his garter from his leg, and, laying violent hands on
the poor woman, endeavoured to perpetrate that dreadful and detestable
fact which we have before commemorated, and which the providential
appearance of Jones did so fortunately prevent.

Happy was it for Mrs Waters that she was not of the weakest order of
females; for no sooner did she perceive, by his tying a knot in his
garter, and by his declarations, what his hellish intentions were,
than she stood stoutly to her defence, and so strongly struggled with
her enemy, screaming all the while for assistance, that she delayed
the execution of the villain's purpose several minutes, by which means
Mr Jones came to her relief at that very instant when her strength
failed and she was totally overpowered, and delivered her from the
ruffian's hands, with no other loss than that of her cloaths, which
were torn from her back, and of the diamond ring, which during the
contention either dropped from her finger, or was wrenched from it by
Northerton.

Thus, reader, we have given thee the fruits of a very painful enquiry
which for thy satisfaction we have made into this matter. And here we
have opened to thee a scene of folly as well as villany, which we
could scarce have believed a human creature capable of being guilty
of, had we not remembered that this fellow was at that time firmly
persuaded that he had already committed a murder, and had forfeited
his life to the law. As he concluded therefore that his only safety
lay in flight, he thought the possessing himself of this poor woman's
money and ring would make him amends for the additional burthen he was
to lay on his conscience.

And here, reader, we must strictly caution thee that thou dost not
take any occasion, from the misbehaviour of such a wretch as this, to
reflect on so worthy and honourable a body of men as are the officers
of our army in general. Thou wilt be pleased to consider that this
fellow, as we have already informed thee, had neither the birth nor
education of a gentleman, nor was a proper person to be enrolled among
the number of such. If, therefore, his baseness can justly reflect on
any besides himself, it must be only on those who gave him his
commission.




BOOK X.

IN WHICH THE HISTORY GOES FORWARD ABOUT TWELVE HOURS.



Chapter i.

Containing instructions very necessary to be perused by modern
critics.


Reader, it is impossible we should know what sort of person thou wilt
be; for, perhaps, thou may'st be as learned in human nature as
Shakespear himself was, and, perhaps, thou may'st be no wiser than
some of his editors. Now, lest this latter should be the case, we
think proper, before we go any farther together, to give thee a few
wholesome admonitions; that thou may'st not as grossly misunderstand
and misrepresent us, as some of the said editors have misunderstood
and misrepresented their author.

First, then, we warn thee not too hastily to condemn any of the
incidents in this our history as impertinent and foreign to our main
design, because thou dost not immediately conceive in what manner such
incident may conduce to that design. This work may, indeed, be
considered as a great creation of our own; and for a little reptile of
a critic to presume to find fault with any of its parts, without
knowing the manner in which the whole is connected, and before he
comes to the final catastrophe, is a most presumptuous absurdity. The
allusion and metaphor we have here made use of, we must acknowledge to
be infinitely too great for our occasion; but there is, indeed, no
other, which is at all adequate to express the difference between an
author of the first rate and a critic of the lowest.

Another caution we would give thee, my good reptile, is, that thou
dost not find out too near a resemblance between certain characters
here introduced; as, for instance, between the landlady who appears in
the seventh book and her in the ninth. Thou art to know, friend, that
there are certain characteristics in which most individuals of every
profession and occupation agree. To be able to preserve these
characteristics, and at the same time to diversify their operations,
is one talent of a good writer. Again, to mark the nice distinction
between two persons actuated by the same vice or folly is another;
and, as this last talent is found in very few writers, so is the true
discernment of it found in as few readers; though, I believe, the
observation of this forms a very principal pleasure in those who are
capable of the discovery; every person, for instance, can distinguish
between Sir Epicure Mammon and Sir Fopling Flutter; but to note the
difference between Sir Fopling Flutter and Sir Courtly Nice requires a
more exquisite judgment: for want of which, vulgar spectators of plays
very often do great injustice in the theatre; where I have sometimes
known a poet in danger of being convicted as a thief, upon much worse
evidence than the resemblance of hands hath been held to be in the
law. In reality, I apprehend every amorous widow on the stage would
run the hazard of being condemned as a servile imitation of Dido, but
that happily very few of our play-house critics understand enough of
Latin to read Virgil.

In the next place, we must admonish thee, my worthy friend (for,
perhaps, thy heart may be better than thy head), not to condemn a
character as a bad one, because it is not perfectly a good one. If
thou dost delight in these models of perfection, there are books enow
written to gratify thy taste; but, as we have not, in the course of
our conversation, ever happened to meet with any such person, we have
not chosen to introduce any such here. To say the truth, I a little
question whether mere man ever arrived at this consummate degree of
excellence, as well as whether there hath ever existed a monster bad
enough to verify that