The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling Henry Fielding - 67

news, and was indeed for two or three minutes struck dumb by it. At
last, addressing himself to Mr Nightingale, he said, "I must confess
myself, sir, more surprized at what you tell me than I have ever been
before at anything in my whole life. Are you certain this was the
gentleman?" "I am most certain," answered Nightingale. "At
Aldersgate?" cries Allworthy. "And was you in company with this lawyer
and the two fellows?"--"I was, sir," said the other, "very near half
an hour." "Well, sir," said Allworthy, "and in what manner did the
lawyer behave? did you hear all that past between him and the
fellows?" "No, sir," answered Nightingale, "they had been together
before I came.--In my presence the lawyer said little; but, after I
had several times examined the fellows, who persisted in a story
directly contrary to what I had heard from Mr Jones, and which I find
by Mr Fitzpatrick was a rank falshood, the lawyer then desired the
fellows to say nothing but what was the truth, and seemed to speak so
much in favour of Mr Jones, that, when I saw the same person with you,
I concluded your goodness had prompted you to send him thither."--"And
did you not send him thither?" says Mrs Miller.--"Indeed I did not,"
answered Allworthy; "nor did I know he had gone on such an errand till
this moment."--"I see it all!" said Mrs Miller, "upon my soul, I see
it all! No wonder they have been closeted so close lately. Son
Nightingale, let me beg you run for these fellows immediately----find
them out if they are above-ground. I will go myself"--"Dear madam,"
said Allworthy, "be patient, and do me the favour to send a servant
upstairs to call Mr Dowling hither, if he be in the house, or, if not,
Mr Blifil." Mrs Miller went out muttering something to herself, and
presently returned with an answer, "That Mr Dowling was gone; but that
the t'other," as she called him, "was coming."

Allworthy was of a cooler disposition than the good woman, whose
spirits were all up in arms in the cause of her friend. He was not
however without some suspicions which were near akin to hers. When
Blifil came into the room, he asked him with a very serious
countenance, and with a less friendly look than he had ever before
given him, "Whether he knew anything of Mr Dowling's having seen any
of the persons who were present at the duel between Jones and another
gentleman?"

There is nothing so dangerous as a question which comes by surprize on
a man whose business it is to conceal truth, or to defend falshood.
For which reason those worthy personages, whose noble office it is to
save the lives of their fellow-creatures at the Old Bailey, take the
utmost care, by frequent previous examination, to divine every
question which may be asked their clients on the day of tryal, that
they may be supplyed with proper and ready answers, which the most
fertile invention cannot supply in an instant. Besides, the sudden and
violent impulse on the blood, occasioned by these surprizes, causes
frequently such an alteration in the countenance, that the man is
obliged to give evidence against himself. And such indeed were the
alterations which the countenance of Blifil underwent from this sudden
question, that we can scarce blame the eagerness of Mrs Miller, who
immediately cryed out, "Guilty, upon my honour! guilty, upon my soul!"

Mr Allworthy sharply rebuked her for this impetuosity; and then
turning to Blifil, who seemed sinking into the earth, he said, "Why do
you hesitate, sir, at giving me an answer? You certainly must have
employed him; for he would not, of his own accord, I believe, have
undertaken such an errand, and especially without acquainting me."

Blifil then answered, "I own, sir, I have been guilty of an offence,
yet may I hope your pardon?"--"My pardon," said Allworthy, very
angrily.--"Nay, sir," answered Blifil, "I knew you would be offended;
yet surely my dear uncle will forgive the effects of the most amiable
of human weaknesses. Compassion for those who do not deserve it, I own
is a crime; and yet it is a crime from which you yourself are not
entirely free. I know I have been guilty of it in more than one
instance to this very person; and I will own I did send Mr Dowling,
not on a vain and fruitless enquiry, but to discover the witnesses,
and to endeavour to soften their evidence. This, sir, is the truth;
which, though I intended to conceal from you, I will not deny."

"I confess," said Nightingale, "this is the light in which it appeared
to me from the gentleman's behaviour."

"Now, madam," said Allworthy, "I believe you will once in your life
own you have entertained a wrong suspicion, and are not so angry with
my nephew as you was."

Mrs Miller was silent; for, though she could not so hastily be pleased
with Blifil, whom she looked upon to have been the ruin of Jones, yet
in this particular instance he had imposed upon her as well as upon
the rest; so entirely had the devil stood his friend. And, indeed, I
look upon the vulgar observation, "That the devil often deserts his
friends, and leaves them in the lurch," to be a great abuse on that
gentleman's character. Perhaps he may sometimes desert those who are
only his cup acquaintance; or who, at most, are but half his; but he
generally stands by those who are thoroughly his servants, and helps
them off in all extremities, till their bargain expires.

As a conquered rebellion strengthens a government, or as health is
more perfectly established by recovery from some diseases; so anger,
when removed, often gives new life to affection. This was the case of
Mr Allworthy; for Blifil having wiped off the greater suspicion, the
lesser, which had been raised by Square's letter, sunk of course, and
was forgotten; and Thwackum, with whom he was greatly offended, bore
alone all the reflections which Square had cast on the enemies of
Jones.

As for that young man, the resentment of Mr Allworthy began more and
more to abate towards him. He told Blifil, "He did not only forgive
the extraordinary efforts of his good-nature, but would give him the
pleasure of following his example." Then, turning to Mrs Miller with a
smile which would have become an angel, he cryed, "What say you,
madam? shall we take a hackney-coach, and all of us together pay a
visit to your friend? I promise you it is not the first visit I have
made in a prison."

Every reader, I believe, will be able to answer for the worthy woman;
but they must have a great deal of good-nature, and be well acquainted
with friendship, who can feel what she felt on this occasion. Few, I
hope, are capable of feeling what now passed in the mind of Blifil;
but those who are will acknowledge that it was impossible for him to
raise any objection to this visit. Fortune, however, or the gentleman
lately mentioned above, stood his friend, and prevented his undergoing
so great a shock; for at the very instant when the coach was sent for,
Partridge arrived, and, having called Mrs Miller from the company,
acquainted her with the dreadful accident lately come to light; and
hearing Mr Allworthy's intention, begged her to find some means of
stopping him: "For," says he, "the matter must at all hazards be kept
a secret from him; and if he should now go, he will find Mr Jones and
his mother, who arrived just as I left him, lamenting over one another
the horrid crime they have ignorantly committed."

The poor woman, who was almost deprived of her senses at his dreadful
news, was never less capable of invention than at present. However, as
women are much readier at this than men, she bethought herself of an
excuse, and, returning to Allworthy, said, "I am sure, sir, you will
be surprized at hearing any objection from me to the kind proposal you
just now made; and yet I am afraid of the consequence of it, if
carried immediately into execution. You must imagine, sir, that all
the calamities which have lately befallen this poor young fellow must
have thrown him into the lowest dejection of spirits; and now, sir,
should we all on a sudden fling him into such a violent fit of joy, as
I know your presence will occasion, it may, I am afraid, produce some
fatal mischief, especially as his servant, who is without, tells me he
is very far from being well."

"Is his servant without?" cries Allworthy; "pray call him hither. I
will ask him some questions concerning his master."

Partridge was at first afraid to appear before Mr Allworthy; but was
at length persuaded, after Mrs Miller, who had often heard his whole
story from his own mouth, had promised to introduce him.

Allworthy recollected Partridge the moment he came into the room,
though many years had passed since he had seen him. Mrs Miller,
therefore, might have spared here a formal oration, in which, indeed,
she was something prolix; for the reader, I believe, may have observed
already that the good woman, among other things, had a tongue always
ready for the service of her friends.

"And are you," said Allworthy to Partridge, "the servant of Mr Jones?"
"I can't say, sir," answered he, "that I am regularly a servant, but I
live with him, an't please your honour, at present. _Non sum qualis
eram_, as your honour very well knows."

Mr Allworthy then asked him many questions concerning Jones, as to his
health, and other matters; to all which Partridge answered, without
having the least regard to what was, but considered only what he would
have things appear; for a strict adherence to truth was not among the
articles of this honest fellow's morality or his religion.

During this dialogue Mr Nightingale took his leave, and presently
after Mrs Miller left the room, when Allworthy likewise despatched
Blifil; for he imagined that Partridge when alone with him would be
more explicit than before company. They were no sooner left in private
together than Allworthy began, as in the following chapter.



Chapter vi.

In which the history is farther continued


"Sure, friend," said the good man, "you are the strangest of all human
beings. Not only to have suffered as you have formerly for obstinately
persisting in a falshood, but to persist in it thus to the last, and
to pass thus upon the world for a servant of your own son! What
interest can you have in all this? What can be your motive?"

"I see, sir," said Partridge, falling down upon his knees, "that your
honour is prepossessed against me, and resolved not to believe
anything I say, and, therefore, what signifies my protestations? but
yet there is one above who knows that I am not the father of this
young man."

"How!" said Allworthy, "will you yet deny what you was formerly
convicted of upon such unanswerable, such manifest evidence? Nay, what
a confirmation is your being now found with this very man, of all
which twenty years ago appeared against you! I thought you had left
the country! nay, I thought you had been long since dead.--In what
manner did you know anything of this young man? Where did you meet
with him, unless you had kept some correspondence together? Do not
deny this; for I promise you it will greatly raise your son in my
opinion, to find that he hath such a sense of filial duty as privately
to support his father for so many years."

"If your honour will have patience to hear me," said Partridge, "I
will tell you all."--Being bid go on, he proceeded thus: "When your
honour conceived that displeasure against me, it ended in my ruin soon
after; for I lost my little school; and the minister, thinking I
suppose it would be agreeable to your honour, turned me out from the
office of clerk; so that I had nothing to trust to but the barber's
shop, which, in a country place like that, is a poor livelihood; and
when my wife died (for till that time I received a pension of £12 a
year from an unknown hand, which indeed I believe was your honour's
own, for nobody that ever I heard of doth these things besides)--but,
as I was saying, when she died, this pension forsook me; so that now,
as I owed two or three small debts, which began to be troublesome to
me, particularly one[*] which an attorney brought up by law-charges
from 15s. to near £30, and as I found all my usual means of living had
forsook me, I packed up my little all as well as I could, and went
off.

[*] This is a fact which I knew happen to a poor clergyman in
Dorsetshire, by the villany of an attorney who, not contented with
the exorbitant costs to which the poor man was put by a single
action, brought afterwards another action on the judgment, as it was
called. A method frequently used to oppress the poor, and bring
money into the pockets of attorneys, to the great scandal of the
law, of the nation, of Christianity, and even of human nature
itself.

"The first place I came to was Salisbury, where I got into the service
of a gentleman belonging to the law, and one of the best gentlemen
that ever I knew, for he was not only good to me, but I know a
thousand good and charitable acts which he did while I staid with him;
and I have known him often refuse business because it was paultry and
oppressive." "You need not be so particular," said Allworthy; "I know
this gentleman, and a very worthy man he is, and an honour to his
profession."--"Well, sir," continued Partridge, "from hence I removed
to Lymington, where I was above three years in the service of another
lawyer, who was likewise a very good sort of a man, and to be sure one
of the merriest gentlemen in England. Well, sir, at the end of the
three years I set up a little school, and was likely to do well again,
had it not been for a most unlucky accident. Here I kept a pig; and
one day, as ill fortune would have it, this pig broke out, and did a
trespass, I think they call it, in a garden belonging to one of my
neighbours, who was a proud, revengeful man, and employed a lawyer,
one--one--I can't think of his name; but he sent for a writ against
me, and had me to size. When I came there, Lord have mercy upon me--to
hear what the counsellors said! There was one that told my lord a
parcel of the confoundedest lies about me; he said that I used to
drive my hogs into other folk's gardens, and a great deal more; and at
last he said, he hoped I had at last brought my hogs to a fair market.
To be sure, one would have thought that, instead of being owner only
of one poor little pig, I had been the greatest hog-merchant in
England. Well--" "Pray," said Allworthy, "do not be so particular, I
have heard nothing of your son yet." "O it was a great many years,"
answered Partridge, "before I saw my son, as you are pleased to call
him.----I went over to Ireland after this, and taught school at Cork
(for that one suit ruined me again, and I lay seven years in
Winchester jail)."--"Well," said Allworthy, "pass that over till your
return to England."--"Then, sir," said he, "it was about half a year
ago that I landed at Bristol, where I staid some time, and not finding
it do there, and hearing of a place between that and Gloucester where
the barber was just dead, I went thither, and there I had been about
two months when Mr Jones came thither." He then gave Allworthy a very
particular account of their first meeting, and of everything, as well
as he could remember, which had happened from that day to this;
frequently interlarding his story with panegyrics on Jones, and not
forgetting to insinuate the great love and respect which he had for
Allworthy. He concluded with saying, "Now, sir, I have told your
honour the whole truth." And then repeated a most solemn protestation,
"That he was no more the father of Jones than of the Pope of Rome;"
and imprecated the most bitter curses on his head, if he did not speak
truth.

"What am I to think of this matter?" cries Allworthy. "For what
purpose should you so strongly deny a fact which I think it would be
rather your interest to own?" "Nay, sir," answered Partridge (for he
could hold no longer), "if your honour will not believe me, you are
like soon to have satisfaction enough. I wish you had mistaken the
mother of this young man, as well as you have his father."--And now
being asked what he meant, with all the symptoms of horror, both in
his voice and countenance, he told Allworthy the whole story, which he
had a little before expressed such desire to Mrs Miller to conceal
from him.

Allworthy was almost as much shocked at this discovery as Partridge
himself had been while he related it. "Good heavens!" says he, "in
what miserable distresses do vice and imprudence involve men! How much
beyond our designs are the effects of wickedness sometimes carried!"
He had scarce uttered these words, when Mrs Waters came hastily and
abruptly into the room. Partridge no sooner saw her than he cried,
"Here, sir, here is the very woman herself. This is the unfortunate
mother of Mr Jones. I am sure she will acquit me before your honour.
Pray, madam----"

Mrs Waters, without paying any regard to what Partridge said, and
almost without taking any notice of him, advanced to Mr Allworthy. "I
believe, sir, it is so long since I had the honour of seeing you, that
you do not recollect me." "Indeed," answered Allworthy, "you are so
very much altered, on many accounts, that had not this man already
acquainted me who you are, I should not have immediately called you to
my remembrance. Have you, madam, any particular business which brings
you to me?" Allworthy spoke this with great reserve; for the reader
may easily believe he was not well pleased with the conduct of this
lady; neither with what he had formerly heard, nor with what Partridge
had now delivered.

Mrs Waters answered--"Indeed, sir, I have very particular business
with you; and it is such as I can impart only to yourself. I must
desire, therefore, the favour of a word with you alone: for I assure
you what I have to tell you is of the utmost importance."

Partridge was then ordered to withdraw, but before he went, he begged
the lady to satisfy Mr Allworthy that he was perfectly innocent. To
which she answered, "You need be under no apprehension, sir; I shall
satisfy Mr Allworthy very perfectly of that matter."

Then Partridge withdrew, and that past between Mr Allworthy and Mrs
Waters which is written in the next chapter.



Chapter vii.

Continuation of the history.


Mrs Waters remaining a few moments silent, Mr Allworthy could not
refrain from saying, "I am sorry, madam, to perceive, by what I have
since heard, that you have made so very ill a use----" "Mr Allworthy,"
says she, interrupting him, "I know I have faults, but ingratitude to
you is not one of them. I never can nor shall forget your goodness,
which I own I have very little deserved; but be pleased to wave all
upbraiding me at present, as I have so important an affair to
communicate to you concerning this young man, to whom you have given
my maiden name of Jones."

"Have I then," said Allworthy, "ignorantly punished an innocent man,
in the person of him who hath just left us? Was he not the father of
the child?" "Indeed he was not," said Mrs Waters. "You may be pleased
to remember, sir, I formerly told you, you should one day know; and I
acknowledge myself to have been guilty of a cruel neglect, in not
having discovered it to you before. Indeed, I little knew how
necessary it was." "Well, madam," said Allworthy, "be pleased to
proceed." "You must remember, sir," said she, "a young fellow, whose
name was Summer." "Very well," cries Allworthy, "he was the son of a
clergyman of great learning and virtue, for whom I had the highest
friendship." "So it appeared, sir," answered she; "for I believe you
bred the young man up, and maintained him at the university; where, I
think, he had finished his studies, when he came to reside at your
house; a finer man, I must say, the sun never shone upon; for, besides
the handsomest person I ever saw, he was so genteel, and had so much
wit and good breeding." "Poor gentleman," said Allworthy, "he was
indeed untimely snatched away; and little did I think he had any sins
of this kind to answer for; for I plainly perceive you are going to
tell me he was the father of your child."

"Indeed, sir," answered she, "he was not." "How!" said Allworthy, "to
what then tends all this preface?" "To a story," said she, "which I am
concerned falls to my lot to unfold to you. O, sir! prepare to hear
something which will surprize you, will grieve you." "Speak," said
Allworthy, "I am conscious of no crime, and cannot be afraid to hear."
"Sir," said she, "that Mr Summer, the son of your friend, educated at
your expense, who, after living a year in the house as if he had been
your own son, died there of the small-pox, was tenderly lamented by
you, and buried as if he had been your own; that Summer, sir, was the
father of this child." "How!" said Allworthy; "you contradict
yourself." "That I do not," answered she; "he was indeed the father of
this child, but not by me." "Take care, madam," said Allworthy, "do
not, to shun the imputation of any crime, be guilty of falshood.
Remember there is One from whom you can conceal nothing, and before
whose tribunal falshood will only aggravate your guilt." "Indeed,
sir," says she, "I am not his mother; nor would I now think myself so
for the world." "I know your reason," said Allworthy, "and shall
rejoice as much as you to find it otherwise; yet you must remember,
you yourself confest it before me." "So far what I confest," said she,
"was true, that these hands conveyed the infant to your bed; conveyed
it thither at the command of its mother; at her commands I afterwards
owned it, and thought myself, by her generosity, nobly rewarded, both
for my secrecy and my shame." "Who could this woman be?" said
Allworthy. "Indeed, I tremble to name her," answered Mrs Waters. "By
all this preparation I am to guess that she was a relation of mine,"
cried he. "Indeed she was a near one." At which words Allworthy
started, and she continued--"You had a sister, sir." "A sister!"
repeated he, looking aghast.--"As there is truth in heaven," cries
she, "your sister was the mother of that child you found between your
sheets." "Can it be possible?" cries he, "Good heavens!" "Have
patience, sir," said Mrs Waters, "and I will unfold to you the whole
story. Just after your departure for London, Miss Bridget came one day
to the house of my mother. She was pleased to say she had heard an
extraordinary character of me, for my learning and superior
understanding to all the young women there, so she was pleased to say.
She then bid me come to her to the great house; where, when I
attended, she employed me to read to her. She expressed great
satisfaction in my reading, shewed great kindness to me, and made me
many presents. At last she began to catechise me on the subject of
secrecy, to which I gave her such satisfactory answers, that, at last,
having locked the door of her room, she took me into her closet, and
then locking that door likewise, she said she should convince me of
the vast reliance she had on my integrity, by communicating a secret
in which her honour, and consequently her life, was concerned. She
then stopt, and after a silence of a few minutes, during which she
often wiped her eyes, she enquired of me if I thought my mother might
safely be confided in. I answered, I would stake my life on her
fidelity. She then imparted to me the great secret which laboured in
her breast, and which, I believe, was delivered with more pains than
she afterwards suffered in child-birth. It was then contrived that my
mother and myself only should attend at the time, and that Mrs Wilkins
should be sent out of the way, as she accordingly was, to the very
furthest part of Dorsetshire, to enquire the character of a servant;
for the lady had turned away her own maid near three months before;
during all which time I officiated about her person upon trial, as she
said, though, as she afterwards declared, I was not sufficiently handy
for the place. This, and many other such things which she used to say
of me, were all thrown out to prevent any suspicion which Wilkins
might hereafter have, when I was to own the child; for she thought it
could never be believed she would venture to hurt a young woman with
whom she had intrusted such a secret. You may be assured, sir, I was
well paid for all these affronts, which, together with being informed
with the occasion of them, very well contented me. Indeed, the lady
had a greater suspicion of Mrs Wilkins than of any other person; not
that she had the least aversion to the gentlewoman, but she thought
her incapable of keeping a secret, especially from you, sir; for I
have often heard Miss Bridget say, that, if Mrs Wilkins had committed
a murder, she believed she would acquaint you with it. At last the
expected day came, and Mrs Wilkins, who had been kept a week in
readiness, and put off from time to time, upon some pretence or other,
that she might not return too soon, was dispatched. Then the child was
born, in the presence only of myself and my mother, and was by my
mother conveyed to her own house, where it was privately kept by her
till the evening of your return, when I, by the command of Miss
Bridget, conveyed it into the bed where you found it. And all
suspicions were afterwards laid asleep by the artful conduct of your
sister, in pretending ill-will to the boy, and that any regard she
shewed him was out of meer complacence to you."

Mrs Waters then made many protestations of the truth of this story,
and concluded by saying, "Thus, sir, you have at last discovered your
nephew; for so I am sure you will hereafter think him, and I question
not but he will be both an honour and a comfort to you under that
appellation."

"I need not, madam," said Allworthy, "express my astonishment at what
you have told me; and yet surely you would not, and could not, have
put together so many circumstances to evidence an untruth. I confess I
recollect some passages relating to that Summer, which formerly gave
me a conceit that my sister had some liking to him. I mentioned it to
her; for I had such a regard to the young man, as well on his own
account as on his father's, that I should willingly have consented to
a match between them; but she exprest the highest disdain of my unkind
suspicion, as she called it; so that I never spoke more on the
subject. Good heavens! Well! the Lord disposeth all things.--Yet sure
it was a most unjustifiable conduct in my sister to carry this secret
with her out of the world." "I promise you, sir," said Mrs Waters,
"she always profest a contrary intention, and frequently told me she
intended one day to communicate it to you. She said, indeed, she was
highly rejoiced that her plot had succeeded so well, and that you had
of your own accord taken such a fancy to the child, that it was yet
unnecessary to make any express declaration. Oh! sir, had that lady
lived to have seen this poor young man turned like a vagabond from
your house: nay, sir, could she have lived to hear that you had
yourself employed a lawyer to prosecute him for a murder of which he
was not guilty----Forgive me, Mr Allworthy, I must say it was
unkind.--Indeed, you have been abused, he never deserved it of you."
"Indeed, madam," said Allworthy, "I have been abused by the person,
whoever he was, that told you so." "Nay, sir," said she, "I would not
be mistaken, I did not presume to say you were guilty of any wrong.
The gentleman who came to me proposed no such matter; he only said,
taking me for Mr Fitzpatrick's wife, that, if Mr Jones had murdered my
husband, I should be assisted with any money I wanted to carry on the
prosecution, by a very worthy gentleman, who, he said, was well
apprized what a villain I had to deal with. It was by this man I found
out who Mr Jones was; and this man, whose name is Dowling, Mr Jones
tells me is your steward. I discovered his name by a very odd
accident; for he himself refused to tell it me; but Partridge, who met
him at my lodgings the second time he came, knew him formerly at
Salisbury."

"And did this Mr Dowling," says Allworthy, with great astonishment
in his countenance, "tell you that I would assist in the