TOM JONES
PART 3
BOOK II. — CONTAINING SCENES OF MATRIMONIAL FELICITY IN DIFFERENT DEGREES OF LIFE; AND VARIOUS OTHER TRANSACTIONS DURING THE FIRST TWO YEARS AFTER THE MARRIAGE BETWEEN CAPTAIN BLIFIL AND MISS BRIDGET ALLWORTHY.
Chapter i. — Showing what kind of a history this is; what it is like, and what it is not like.
Though we
have properly enough entitled this our work, a history, and not a life; nor an
apology for a life, as is more in fashion; yet we intend in it rather to pursue
the method of those writers, who profess to disclose the revolutions of
countries, than to imitate the painful and voluminous historian, who, to
preserve the regularity of his series, thinks himself obliged to fill up as
much paper with the detail of months and years in which nothing remarkable
happened, as he employs upon those notable aeras when the greatest scenes have
been transacted on the human stage.
Such
histories as these do, in reality, very much resemble a newspaper, which
consists of just the same number of words, whether there be any news in it or
not. They may likewise be compared to a stage coach, which performs constantly
the same course, empty as well as full. The writer, indeed, seems to think
himself obliged to keep even pace with time, whose amanuensis he is; and, like
his master, travels as slowly through centuries of monkish dulness, when the
world seems to have been asleep, as through that bright and busy age so nobly
distinguished by the excellent Latin poet—
Ad confligendum venientibus undique poenis,
Omnia cum belli trepido concussa tumultu
Horrida contremuere sub altis aetheris auris;
In dubioque fuit sub utrorum regna cadendum
Omnibus humanis esset, terraque marique.
Of which
we wish we could give our readers a more adequate translation than that by Mr
Creech—
When dreadful Carthage frighted Rome with arms,
And all the world was shook with fierce alarms;
Whilst undecided yet, which part should fall,
Which nation rise the glorious lord of all.
Now it is
our purpose, in the ensuing pages, to pursue a contrary method. When any
extraordinary scene presents itself (as we trust will often be the case), we
shall spare no pains nor paper to open it at large to our reader; but if whole
years should pass without producing anything worthy his notice, we shall not be
afraid of a chasm in our history; but shall hasten on to matters of
consequence, and leave such periods of time totally unobserved.
These are
indeed to be considered as blanks in the grand lottery of time. We therefore,
who are the registers of that lottery, shall imitate those sagacious persons
who deal in that which is drawn at Guildhall, and who never trouble the public
with the many blanks they dispose of; but when a great prize happens to be drawn,
the newspapers are presently filled with it, and the world is sure to be
informed at whose office it was sold: indeed, commonly two or three different
offices lay claim to the honour of having disposed of it; by which, I suppose,
the adventurers are given to understand that certain brokers are in the secrets
of Fortune, and indeed of her cabinet council.
My reader
then is not to be surprized, if, in the course of this work, he shall find some
chapters very short, and others altogether as long; some that contain only the
time of a single day, and others that comprise years; in a word, if my history
sometimes seems to stand still, and sometimes to fly. For all which I shall not
look on myself as accountable to any court of critical jurisdiction whatever:
for as I am, in reality, the founder of a new province of writing, so I am at
liberty to make what laws I please therein. And these laws, my readers, whom I
consider as my subjects, are bound to believe in and to obey; with which that
they may readily and cheerfully comply, I do hereby assure them that I shall
principally regard their ease and advantage in all such institutions: for I do
not, like a jure divino tyrant, imagine that they are my slaves, or my
commodity. I am, indeed, set over them for their own good only, and was created
for their use, and not they for mine. Nor do I doubt, while I make their
interest the great rule of my writings, they will unanimously concur in
supporting my dignity, and in rendering me all the honour I shall deserve or desire.
Chapter ii. — Religious cautions against showing too much favour to bastards; and a great discovery made by Mrs Deborah Wilkins.
Eight
months after the celebration of the nuptials between Captain Blifil and Miss
Bridget Allworthy, a young lady of great beauty, merit, and fortune, was Miss
Bridget, by reason of a fright, delivered of a fine boy. The child was indeed
to all appearances perfect; but the midwife discovered it was born a month
before its full time.
Though the
birth of an heir by his beloved sister was a circumstance of great joy to Mr
Allworthy, yet it did not alienate his affections from the little foundling, to
whom he had been godfather, had given his own name of Thomas, and whom he had
hitherto seldom failed of visiting, at least once a day, in his nursery.
He told
his sister, if she pleased, the new-born infant should be bred up together with
little Tommy; to which she consented, though with some little reluctance: for
she had truly a great complacence for her brother; and hence she had always
behaved towards the foundling with rather more kindness than ladies of rigid
virtue can sometimes bring themselves to show to these children, who, however
innocent, may be truly called the living monuments of incontinence.
The
captain could not so easily bring himself to bear what he condemned as a fault
in Mr Allworthy. He gave him frequent hints, that to adopt the fruits of sin,
was to give countenance to it. He quoted several texts (for he was well read in
Scripture), such as, He visits the sins of the fathers upon the children;
and the fathers have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on
edge,&c. Whence he argued the legality of punishing the crime of the
parent on the bastard. He said, “Though the law did not positively allow the
destroying such base-born children, yet it held them to be the children of
nobody; that the Church considered them as the children of nobody; and that at
the best, they ought to be brought up to the lowest and vilest offices of the
commonwealth.”
Mr
Allworthy answered to all this, and much more, which the captain had urged on
this subject, “That, however guilty the parents might be, the children were
certainly innocent: that as to the texts he had quoted, the former of them was
a particular denunciation against the Jews, for the sin of idolatry, of
relinquishing and hating their heavenly King; and the latter was parabolically
spoken, and rather intended to denote the certain and necessary consequences of
sin, than any express judgment against it. But to represent the Almighty as
avenging the sins of the guilty on the innocent, was indecent, if not
blasphemous, as it was to represent him acting against the first principles of
natural justice, and against the original notions of right and wrong, which he
himself had implanted in our minds; by which we were to judge not only in all
matters which were not revealed, but even of the truth of revelation itself. He
said he knew many held the same principles with the captain on this head; but
he was himself firmly convinced to the contrary, and would provide in the same
manner for this poor infant, as if a legitimate child had had fortune to have
been found in the same place.”
While the
captain was taking all opportunities to press these and such like arguments, to
remove the little foundling from Mr Allworthy’s, of whose fondness for him he
began to be jealous, Mrs Deborah had made a discovery, which, in its event,
threatened at least to prove more fatal to poor Tommy than all the reasonings
of the captain.
Whether
the insatiable curiosity of this good woman had carried her on to that
business, or whether she did it to confirm herself in the good graces of Mrs
Blifil, who, notwithstanding her outward behaviour to the foundling, frequently
abused the infant in private, and her brother too, for his fondness to it, I
will not determine; but she had now, as she conceived, fully detected the
father of the foundling.
Now, as
this was a discovery of great consequence, it may be necessary to trace it from
the fountain-head. We shall therefore very minutely lay open those previous
matters by which it was produced; and for that purpose we shall be obliged to
reveal all the secrets of a little family with which my reader is at present entirely
unacquainted; and of which the oeconomy was so rare and extraordinary, that I
fear it will shock the utmost credulity of many married persons.
Chapter iii. — The description of a domestic government founded upon rules directly contrary to those of Aristotle.
My reader
may please to remember he hath been informed that Jenny Jones had lived some
years with a certain schoolmaster, who had, at her earnest desire, instructed
her in Latin, in which, to do justice to her genius, she had so improved herself,
that she was become a better scholar than her master.
Indeed,
though this poor man had undertaken a profession to which learning must be
allowed necessary, this was the least of his commendations. He was one of the
best-natured fellows in the world, and was, at the same time, master of so much
pleasantry and humour, that he was reputed the wit of the country; and all the
neighbouring gentlemen were so desirous of his company, that as denying was not
his talent, he spent much time at their houses, which he might, with more
emolument, have spent in his school.
It may be
imagined that a gentleman so qualified and so disposed, was in no danger of
becoming formidable to the learned seminaries of Eton or Westminster. To speak
plainly, his scholars were divided into two classes: in the upper of which was
a young gentleman, the son of a neighbouring squire, who, at the age of
seventeen, was just entered into his Syntaxis; and in the lower was a second
son of the same gentleman, who, together with seven parish-boys, was learning
to read and write.
The
stipend arising hence would hardly have indulged the schoolmaster in the
luxuries of life, had he not added to this office those of clerk and barber,
and had not Mr Allworthy added to the whole an annuity of ten pounds, which the
poor man received every Christmas, and with which he was enabled to cheer his
heart during that sacred festival.
Among his
other treasures, the pedagogue had a wife, whom he had married out of Mr
Allworthy’s kitchen for her fortune, viz., twenty pounds, which she had there
amassed.
This woman
was not very amiable in her person. Whether she sat to my friend Hogarth, or
no, I will not determine; but she exactly resembled the young woman who is
pouring out her mistress’s tea in the third picture of the Harlot’s Progress.
She was, besides, a profest follower of that noble sect founded by Xantippe of
old; by means of which she became more formidable in the school than her
husband; for, to confess the truth, he was never master there, or anywhere
else, in her presence.
Though her
countenance did not denote much natural sweetness of temper, yet this was,
perhaps, somewhat soured by a circumstance which generally poisons matrimonial
felicity; for children are rightly called the pledges of love; and her husband,
though they had been married nine years, had given her no such pledges; a
default for which he had no excuse, either from age or health, being not yet
thirty years old, and what they call a jolly brisk young man.
Hence
arose another evil, which produced no little uneasiness to the poor pedagogue,
of whom she maintained so constant a jealousy, that he durst hardly speak to
one woman in the parish; for the least degree of civility, or even
correspondence, with any female, was sure to bring his wife upon her back, and
his own.
In order
to guard herself against matrimonial injuries in her own house, as she kept one
maid-servant, she always took care to chuse her out of that order of females
whose faces are taken as a kind of security for their virtue; of which number
Jenny Jones, as the reader hath been before informed, was one.
As the
face of this young woman might be called pretty good security of the
before-mentioned kind, and as her behaviour had been always extremely modest,
which is the certain consequence of understanding in women; she had passed
above four years at Mr Partridge’s (for that was the schoolmaster’s name)
without creating the least suspicion in her mistress. Nay, she had been treated
with uncommon kindness, and her mistress had permitted Mr Partridge to give her
those instructions which have been before commemorated.
But it is
with jealousy as with the gout: when such distempers are in the blood, there is
never any security against their breaking out; and that often on the slightest
occasions, and when least suspected.
Thus it
happened to Mrs Partridge, who had submitted four years to her husband’s
teaching this young woman, and had suffered her often to neglect her work, in
order to pursue her learning. For, passing by one day, as the girl was reading,
and her master leaning over her, the girl, I know not for what reason, suddenly
started up from her chair: and this was the first time that suspicion ever
entered into the head of her mistress. This did not, however, at that time
discover itself, but lay lurking in her mind, like a concealed enemy, who waits
for a reinforcement of additional strength before he openly declares himself
and proceeds upon hostile operations: and such additional strength soon arrived
to corroborate her suspicion; for not long after, the husband and wife being at
dinner, the master said to his maid, Da mihi aliquid potum: upon which
the poor girl smiled, perhaps at the badness of the Latin, and, when her
mistress cast her eyes on her, blushed, possibly with a consciousness of having
laughed at her master. Mrs Partridge, upon this, immediately fell into a fury,
and discharged the trencher on which she was eating, at the head of poor Jenny,
crying out, “You impudent whore, do you play tricks with my husband before my
face?” and at the same instant rose from her chair with a knife in her hand,
with which, most probably, she would have executed very tragical vengeance, had
not the girl taken the advantage of being nearer the door than her mistress,
and avoided her fury by running away: for, as to the poor husband, whether
surprize had rendered him motionless, or fear (which is full as probable) had
restrained him from venturing at any opposition, he sat staring and trembling
in his chair; nor did he once offer to move or speak, till his wife, returning
from the pursuit of Jenny, made some defensive measures necessary for his own
preservation; and he likewise was obliged to retreat, after the example of the
maid.
This good
woman was, no more than Othello, of a disposition
To make a life of jealousy
And follow still the changes of the moon
With fresh suspicions—
With her,
as well as him,
—To be once in doubt,
Was once to be resolvd—
she
therefore ordered Jenny immediately to pack up her alls and begone, for that
she was determined she should not sleep that night within her walls.
Mr
Partridge had profited too much by experience to interpose in a matter of this
nature. He therefore had recourse to his usual receipt of patience, for, though
he was not a great adept in Latin, he remembered, and well understood, the
advice contained in these words
—Leve fit quod bene fertur onus
in
English:
A burden becomes lightest when it is well borne—
which he
had always in his mouth; and of which, to say the truth, he had often occasion
to experience the truth.
Jenny
offered to make protestations of her innocence; but the tempest was too strong
for her to be heard. She then betook herself to the business of packing, for
which a small quantity of brown paper sufficed, and, having received her small
pittance of wages, she returned home.
The
schoolmaster and his consort passed their time unpleasantly enough that
evening, but something or other happened before the next morning, which a
little abated the fury of Mrs Partridge; and she at length admitted her husband
to make his excuses: to which she gave the readier belief, as he had, instead
of desiring her to recall Jenny, professed a satisfaction in her being
dismissed, saying, she was grown of little use as a servant, spending all her
time in reading, and was become, moreover, very pert and obstinate; for,
indeed, she and her master had lately had frequent disputes in literature; in
which, as hath been said, she was become greatly his superior. This, however,
he would by no means allow; and as he called her persisting in the right,
obstinacy, he began to hate her with no small inveteracy.
Chapter iv. — Containing one of the most bloody battles, or rather duels, that were ever recorded in domestic history.
For the
reasons mentioned in the preceding chapter, and from some other matrimonial
concessions, well known to most husbands, and which, like the secrets of
freemasonry, should be divulged to none who are not members of that honourable
fraternity, Mrs Partridge was pretty well satisfied that she had condemned her
husband without cause, and endeavoured by acts of kindness to make him amends
for her false suspicion. Her passions were indeed equally violent, whichever
way they inclined; for as she could be extremely angry, so could she be
altogether as fond.
But though
these passions ordinarily succeed each other, and scarce twenty-four hours ever
passed in which the pedagogue was not, in some degree, the object of both; yet,
on extraordinary occasions, when the passion of anger had raged very high, the
remission was usually longer: and so was the case at present; for she continued
longer in a state of affability, after this fit of jealousy was ended, than her
husband had ever known before: and, had it not been for some little exercises,
which all the followers of Xantippe are obliged to perform daily, Mr Partridge
would have enjoyed a perfect serenity of several months.
Perfect
calms at sea are always suspected by the experienced mariner to be the
forerunners of a storm, and I know some persons, who, without being generally
the devotees of superstition, are apt to apprehend that great and unusual peace
or tranquillity will be attended with its opposite. For which reason the
antients used, on such occasions, to sacrifice to the goddess Nemesis, a deity
who was thought by them to look with an invidious eye on human felicity, and to
have a peculiar delight in overturning it.
As we are
very far from believing in any such heathen goddess, or from encouraging any
superstition, so we wish Mr John Fr——, or some other such philosopher, would
bestir himself a little, in order to find out the real cause of this sudden
transition from good to bad fortune, which hath been so often remarked, and of
which we shall proceed to give an instance; for it is our province to relate
facts, and we shall leave causes to persons of much higher genius.
Mankind
have always taken great delight in knowing and descanting on the actions of
others. Hence there have been, in all ages and nations, certain places set
apart for public rendezvous, where the curious might meet and satisfy their
mutual curiosity. Among these, the barbers’ shops have justly borne the
pre-eminence. Among the Greeks, barbers’ news was a proverbial expression; and
Horace, in one of his epistles, makes honourable mention of the Roman barbers
in the same light.
Those of
England are known to be no wise inferior to their Greek or Roman predecessors.
You there see foreign affairs discussed in a manner little inferior to that
with which they are handled in the coffee-houses; and domestic occurrences are
much more largely and freely treated in the former than in the latter. But this
serves only for the men. Now, whereas the females of this country, especially
those of the lower order, do associate themselves much more than those of other
nations, our polity would be highly deficient, if they had not some place set
apart likewise for the indulgence of their curiosity, seeing they are in this
no way inferior to the other half of the species.
In
enjoying, therefore, such place of rendezvous, the British fair ought to esteem
themselves more happy than any of their foreign sisters; as I do not remember
either to have read in history, or to have seen in my travels, anything of the
like kind.
This place
then is no other than the chandler’s shop, the known seat of all the news; or,
as it is vulgarly called, gossiping, in every parish in England.
Mrs
Partridge being one day at this assembly of females, was asked by one of her
neighbours, if she had heard no news lately of Jenny Jones? To which she
answered in the negative. Upon this the other replied, with a smile, That the
parish was very much obliged to her for having turned Jenny away as she did.
Mrs
Partridge, whose jealousy, as the reader well knows, was long since cured, and
who had no other quarrel to her maid, answered boldly, She did not know any
obligation the parish had to her on that account; for she believed Jenny had
scarce left her equal behind her.
“No,
truly,” said the gossip, “I hope not, though I fancy we have sluts enow too.
Then you have not heard, it seems, that she hath been brought to bed of two
bastards? but as they are not born here, my husband and the other overseer says
we shall not be obliged to keep them.”
“Two
bastards!” answered Mrs Partridge hastily: “you surprize me! I don’t know
whether we must keep them; but I am sure they must have been begotten here, for
the wench hath not been nine months gone away.”
Nothing
can be so quick and sudden as the operations of the mind, especially when hope,
or fear, or jealousy, to which the two others are but journeymen, set it to
work. It occurred instantly to her, that Jenny had scarce ever been out of her
own house while she lived with her. The leaning over the chair, the sudden
starting up, the Latin, the smile, and many other things, rushed upon her all
at once. The satisfaction her husband expressed in the departure of Jenny,
appeared now to be only dissembled; again, in the same instant, to be real; but
yet to confirm her jealousy, proceeding from satiety, and a hundred other bad
causes. In a word, she was convinced of her husband’s guilt, and immediately
left the assembly in confusion.
As fair
Grimalkin, who, though the youngest of the feline family, degenerates not in
ferocity from the elder branches of her house, and though inferior in strength,
is equal in fierceness to the noble tiger himself, when a little mouse, whom it
hath long tormented in sport, escapes from her clutches for a while, frets,
scolds, growls, swears; but if the trunk, or box, behind which the mouse lay
hid be again removed, she flies like lightning on her prey, and, with envenomed
wrath, bites, scratches, mumbles, and tears the little animal.
Not with
less fury did Mrs Partridge fly on the poor pedagogue. Her tongue, teeth, and
hands, fell all upon him at once. His wig was in an instant torn from his head,
his shirt from his back, and from his face descended five streams of blood,
denoting the number of claws with which nature had unhappily armed the enemy.
Mr
Partridge acted for some time on the defensive only; indeed he attempted only
to guard his face with his hands; but as he found that his antagonist abated
nothing of her rage, he thought he might, at least, endeavour to disarm her, or
rather to confine her arms; in doing which her cap fell off in the struggle,
and her hair being too short to reach her shoulders, erected itself on her
head; her stays likewise, which were laced through one single hole at the
bottom, burst open; and her breasts, which were much more redundant than her
hair, hung down below her middle; her face was likewise marked with the blood
of her husband: her teeth gnashed with rage; and fire, such as sparkles from a
smith’s forge, darted from her eyes. So that, altogether, this Amazonian
heroine might have been an object of terror to a much bolder man than Mr
Partridge.
He had, at
length, the good fortune, by getting possession of her arms, to render those
weapons which she wore at the ends of her fingers useless; which she no sooner
perceived, than the softness of her sex prevailed over her rage, and she
presently dissolved in tears, which soon after concluded in a fit.
That small
share of sense which Mr Partridge had hitherto preserved through this scene of
fury, of the cause of which he was hitherto ignorant, now utterly abandoned
him. He ran instantly into the street, hallowing out that his wife was in the
agonies of death, and beseeching the neighbours to fly with the utmost haste to
her assistance. Several good women obeyed his summons, who entering his house,
and applying the usual remedies on such occasions, Mrs Partridge was at length,
to the great joy of her husband, brought to herself.
As soon as
she had a little recollected her spirits, and somewhat composed herself with a
cordial, she began to inform the company of the manifold injuries she had
received from her husband; who, she said, was not contented to injure her in
her bed; but, upon her upbraiding him with it, had treated her in the cruelest
manner imaginable; had tore her cap and hair from her head, and her stays from
her body, giving her, at the same time, several blows, the marks of which she
should carry to the grave.
The poor
man, who bore on his face many more visible marks of the indignation of his
wife, stood in silent astonishment at this accusation; which the reader will, I
believe, bear witness for him, had greatly exceeded the truth; for indeed he had
not struck her once; and this silence being interpreted to be a confession of
the charge by the whole court, they all began at once, una voce, to
rebuke and revile him, repeating often, that none but a coward ever struck a
woman.
Mr
Partridge bore all this patiently; but when his wife appealed to the blood on
her face, as an evidence of his barbarity, he could not help laying claim to
his own blood, for so it really was; as he thought it very unnatural, that this
should rise up (as we are taught that of a murdered person often doth) in
vengeance against him.
To this
the women made no other answer, than that it was a pity it had not come from
his heart, instead of his face; all declaring, that, if their husbands should
lift their hands against them, they would have their hearts’ bloods out of
their bodies.
After much
admonition for what was past, and much good advice to Mr Partridge for his
future behaviour, the company at length departed, and left the husband and wife
to a personal conference together, in which Mr Partridge soon learned the cause
of all his sufferings.
Chapter v. — Containing much matter to exercise the judgment and reflection of the reader.
I believe
it is a true observation, that few secrets are divulged to one person only; but
certainly, it would be next to a miracle that a fact of this kind should be
known to a whole parish, and not transpire any farther.
And,
indeed, a very few days had past, before the country, to use a common phrase,
rung of the schoolmaster of Little Baddington; who was said to have beaten his
wife in the most cruel manner. Nay, in some places it was reported he had
murdered her; in others, that he had broke her arms; in others, her legs: in
short, there was scarce an injury which can be done to a human creature, but
what Mrs Partridge was somewhere or other affirmed to have received from her
husband.
The cause
of this quarrel was likewise variously reported; for as some people said that
Mrs Partridge had caught her husband in bed with his maid, so many other
reasons, of a very different kind, went abroad. Nay, some transferred the guilt
to the wife, and the jealousy to the husband.
Mrs
Wilkins had long ago heard of this quarrel; but, as a different cause from the
true one had reached her ears, she thought proper to conceal it; and the
rather, perhaps, as the blame was universally laid on Mr Partridge; and his
wife, when she was servant to Mr Allworthy, had in something offended Mrs
Wilkins, who was not of a very forgiving temper.
But Mrs
Wilkins, whose eyes could see objects at a distance, and who could very well
look forward a few years into futurity, had perceived a strong likelihood of
Captain Blifil’s being hereafter her master; and as she plainly discerned that
the captain bore no great goodwill to the little foundling, she fancied it
would be rendering him an agreeable service, if she could make any discoveries
that might lessen the affection which Mr Allworthy seemed to have contracted
for this child, and which gave visible uneasiness to the captain, who could not
entirely conceal it even before Allworthy himself; though his wife, who acted
her part much better in public, frequently recommended to him her own example,
of conniving at the folly of her brother, which, she said, she at least as well
perceived, and as much resented, as any other possibly could.
Mrs
Wilkins having therefore, by accident, gotten a true scent of the above
story,—though long after it had happened, failed not to satisfy herself
thoroughly of all the particulars; and then acquainted the captain, that she
had at last discovered the true father of the little bastard, which she was
sorry, she said, to see her master lose his reputation in the country, by
taking so much notice of.
The
captain chid her for the conclusion of her speech, as an improper assurance in
judging of her master’s actions: for if his honour, or his understanding, would
have suffered the captain to make an alliance with Mrs Wilkins, his pride would
by no means have admitted it. And to say the truth, there is no conduct less
politic, than to enter into any confederacy with your friend’s servants against
their master: for by these means you afterwards become the slave of these very
servants; by whom you are constantly liable to be betrayed. And this
consideration, perhaps it was, which prevented Captain Blifil from being more
explicit with Mrs Wilkins, or from encouraging the abuse which she had bestowed
on Allworthy.
But though
he declared no satisfaction to Mrs Wilkins at this discovery, he enjoyed not a
little from it in his own mind, and resolved to make the best use of it he was
able.
He kept
this matter a long time concealed within his own breast, in hopes that Mr
Allworthy might hear it from some other person; but Mrs Wilkins, whether she
resented the captain’s behaviour, or whether his cunning was beyond her, and
she feared the discovery might displease him, never afterwards opened her lips
about the matter.
I have
thought it somewhat strange, upon reflection, that the housekeeper never
acquainted Mrs Blifil with this news, as women are more inclined to communicate
all pieces of intelligence to their own sex, than to ours. The only way, as it
appears to me, of solving this difficulty, is, by imputing it to that distance
which was now grown between the lady and the housekeeper: whether this arose
from a jealousy in Mrs Blifil, that Wilkins showed too great a respect to the
foundling; for while she was endeavouring to ruin the little infant, in order
to ingratiate herself with the captain, she was every day more and more
commending it before Allworthy, as his fondness for it every day increased.
This, notwithstanding all the care she took at other times to express the
direct contrary to Mrs Blifil, perhaps offended that delicate lady, who
certainly now hated Mrs Wilkins; and though she did not, or possibly could not,
absolutely remove her from her place, she found, however, the means of making
her life very uneasy. This Mrs Wilkins, at length, so resented, that she very
openly showed all manner of respect and fondness to little Tommy, in opposition
to Mrs Blifil.
The
captain, therefore, finding the story in danger of perishing, at last took an
opportunity to reveal it himself.
He was one
day engaged with Mr Allworthy in a discourse on charity: in which the captain,
with great learning, proved to Mr Allworthy, that the word charity in Scripture
nowhere means beneficence or generosity.
“The
Christian religion,” he said, “was instituted for much nobler purposes, than to
enforce a lesson which many heathen philosophers had taught us long before, and
which, though it might perhaps be called a moral virtue, savoured but little of
that sublime, Christian-like disposition, that vast elevation of thought, in
purity approaching to angelic perfection, to be attained, expressed, and felt
only by grace. Those,” he said, “came nearer to the Scripture meaning, who
understood by it candour, or the forming of a benevolent opinion of our
brethren, and passing a favourable judgment on their actions; a virtue much
higher, and more extensive in its nature, than a pitiful distribution of alms,
which, though we would never so much prejudice, or even ruin our families,
could never reach many; whereas charity, in the other and truer sense, might be
extended to all mankind.”
He said,
“Considering who the disciples were, it would be absurd to conceive the
doctrine of generosity, or giving alms, to have been preached to them. And, as
we could not well imagine this doctrine should be preached by its Divine Author
to men who could not practise it, much less should we think it understood so by
those who can practise it, and do not.
“But
though,” continued he, “there is, I am afraid, little merit in these
benefactions, there would, I must confess, be much pleasure in them to a good
mind, if it was not abated by one consideration. I mean, that we are liable to
be imposed upon, and to confer our choicest favours often on the undeserving,
as you must own was your case in your bounty to that worthless fellow
Partridge: for two or three such examples must greatly lessen the inward
satisfaction which a good man would otherwise find in generosity; nay, may even
make him timorous in bestowing, lest he should be guilty of supporting vice,
and encouraging the wicked; a crime of a very black dye, and for which it will
by no means be a sufficient excuse, that we have not actually intended such an
encouragement; unless we have used the utmost caution in chusing the objects of
our beneficence. A consideration which, I make no doubt, hath greatly checked
the liberality of many a worthy and pious man.”
Mr
Allworthy answered, “He could not dispute with the captain in the Greek
language, and therefore could say nothing as to the true sense of the word
which is translated charity; but that he had always thought it was interpreted
to consist in action, and that giving alms constituted at least one branch of
that virtue.
“As to the
meritorious part,” he said, “he readily agreed with the captain; for where
could be the merit of barely discharging a duty? which,” he said, “let the word
charity have what construction it would, it sufficiently appeared to be from
the whole tenor of the New Testament. And as he thought it an indispensable
duty, enjoined both by the Christian law, and by the law of nature itself; so
was it withal so pleasant, that if any duty could be said to be its own reward,
or to pay us while we are discharging it, it was this.
“To
confess the truth,” said he, “there is one degree of generosity (of charity I
would have called it), which seems to have some show of merit, and that is,
where, from a principle of benevolence and Christian love, we bestow on another
what we really want ourselves; where, in order to lessen the distresses of
another, we condescend to share some part of them, by giving what even our own
necessities cannot well spare. This is, I think, meritorious; but to relieve
our brethren only with our superfluities; to be charitable (I must use the word)
rather at the expense of our coffers than ourselves; to save several families
from misery rather than hang up an extraordinary picture in our houses or
gratify any other idle ridiculous vanity—this seems to be only being human
creatures. Nay, I will venture to go farther, it is being in some degree
epicures: for what could the greatest epicure wish rather than to eat with many
mouths instead of one? which I think may be predicated of any one who knows
that the bread of many is owing to his own largesses.
“As to the
apprehension of bestowing bounty on such as may hereafter prove unworthy
objects, because many have proved such; surely it can never deter a good man
from generosity. I do not think a few or many examples of ingratitude can
justify a man’s hardening his heart against the distresses of his
fellow-creatures; nor do I believe it can ever have such effect on a truly
benevolent mind. Nothing less than a persuasion of universal depravity can lock
up the charity of a good man; and this persuasion must lead him, I think,
either into atheism, or enthusiasm; but surely it is unfair to argue such
universal depravity from a few vicious individuals; nor was this, I believe,
ever done by a man, who, upon searching his own mind, found one certain
exception to the general rule.” He then concluded by asking, “who that
Partridge was, whom he had called a worthless fellow?”
“I mean,”
said the captain, “Partridge the barber, the schoolmaster, what do you call
him? Partridge, the father of the little child which you found in your bed.”
Mr
Allworthy exprest great surprize at this account, and the captain as great at
his ignorance of it; for he said he had known it above a month: and at length
recollected with much difficulty that he was told it by Mrs Wilkins.
Upon this,
Wilkins was immediately summoned; who having confirmed what the captain had
said, was by Mr Allworthy, by and with the captain’s advice, dispatched to
Little Baddington, to inform herself of the truth of the fact: for the captain
exprest great dislike at all hasty proceedings in criminal matters, and said he
would by no means have Mr Allworthy take any resolution either to the prejudice
of the child or its father, before he was satisfied that the latter was guilty;
for though he had privately satisfied himself of this from one of Partridge’s
neighbours, yet he was too generous to give any such evidence to Mr Allworthy.
Chapter vi. — The trial of Partridge, the schoolmaster, for incontinency; the evidence of his wife; a short reflection on the wisdom of our law; with other grave matters, which those will like best who understand them most.
It may be
wondered that a story so well known, and which had furnished so much matter of
conversation, should never have been mentioned to Mr Allworthy himself, who was
perhaps the only person in that country who had never heard of it.
To account
in some measure for this to the reader, I think proper to inform him, that
there was no one in the kingdom less interested in opposing that doctrine
concerning the meaning of the word charity, which hath been seen in the
preceding chapter, than our good man. Indeed, he was equally intitled to this
virtue in either sense; for as no man was ever more sensible of the wants, or
more ready to relieve the distresses of others, so none could be more tender of
their characters, or slower to believe anything to their disadvantage.
Scandal,
therefore, never found any access to his table; for as it hath been long since
observed that you may know a man by his companions, so I will venture to say,
that, by attending to the conversation at a great man’s table, you may satisfy
yourself of his religion, his politics, his taste, and indeed of his entire
disposition: for though a few odd fellows will utter their own sentiments in
all places, yet much the greater part of mankind have enough of the courtier to
accommodate their conversation to the taste and inclination of their superiors.
But to
return to Mrs Wilkins, who, having executed her commission with great dispatch,
though at fifteen miles distance, brought back such a confirmation of the
schoolmaster’s guilt, that Mr Allworthy determined to send for the criminal,
and examine him viva voce. Mr Partridge, therefore, was summoned to
attend, in order to his defence (if he could make any) against this accusation.
At the
time appointed, before Mr Allworthy himself, at Paradise-hall, came as well the
said Partridge, with Anne, his wife, as Mrs Wilkins his accuser.
And now Mr
Allworthy being seated in the chair of justice, Mr Partridge was brought before
him. Having heard his accusation from the mouth of Mrs Wilkins, he pleaded not
guilty, making many vehement protestations of his innocence.
Mrs
Partridge was then examined, who, after a modest apology for being obliged to
speak the truth against her husband, related all the circumstances with which
the reader hath already been acquainted; and at last concluded with her
husband’s confession of his guilt.
Whether
she had forgiven him or no, I will not venture to determine; but it is certain
she was an unwilling witness in this cause; and it is probable from certain
other reasons, would never have been brought to depose as she did, had not Mrs
Wilkins, with great art, fished all out of her at her own house, and had she
not indeed made promises, in Mr Allworthy’s name, that the punishment of her
husband should not be such as might anywise affect his family.
Partridge
still persisted in asserting his innocence, though he admitted he had made the
above-mentioned confession; which he however endeavoured to account for, by
protesting that he was forced into it by the continued importunity she used:
who vowed, that, as she was sure of his guilt, she would never leave tormenting
him till he had owned it; and faithfully promised, that, in such case, she
would never mention it to him more. Hence, he said, he had been induced falsely
to confess himself guilty, though he was innocent; and that he believed he
should have confest a murder from the same motive.
Mrs
Partridge could not bear this imputation with patience; and having no other
remedy in the present place but tears, she called forth a plentiful assistance
from them, and then addressing herself to Mr Allworthy, she said (or rather
cried), “May it please your worship, there never was any poor woman so injured
as I am by that base man; for this is not the only instance of his falsehood to
me. No, may it please your worship, he hath injured my bed many’s the good time
and often. I could have put up with his drunkenness and neglect of his
business, if he had not broke one of the sacred commandments. Besides, if it
had been out of doors I had not mattered it so much; but with my own servant,
in my own house, under my own roof, to defile my own chaste bed, which to be
sure he hath, with his beastly stinking whores. Yes, you villain, you have
defiled my own bed, you have; and then you have charged me with bullocking you
into owning the truth. It is very likely, an’t please your worship, that I
should bullock him? I have marks enow about my body to show of his cruelty to
me. If you had been a man, you villain, you would have scorned to injure a
woman in that manner. But you an’t half a man, you know it. Nor have you been half
a husband to me. You need run after whores, you need, when I’m sure—And since
he provokes me, I am ready, an’t please your worship, to take my bodily oath
that I found them a-bed together. What, you have forgot, I suppose, when you
beat me into a fit, and made the blood run down my forehead, because I only
civilly taxed you with adultery! but I can prove it by all my neighbours. You
have almost broke my heart, you have, you have.”
Here Mr
Allworthy interrupted, and begged her to be pacified, promising her that she
should have justice; then turning to Partridge, who stood aghast, one half of
his wits being hurried away by surprize and the other half by fear, he said he
was sorry to see there was so wicked a man in the world. He assured him that
his prevaricating and lying backward and forward was a great aggravation of his
guilt; for which the only atonement he could make was by confession and
repentance. He exhorted him, therefore, to begin by immediately confessing the
fact, and not to persist in denying what was so plainly proved against him even
by his own wife.
Here,
reader, I beg your patience a moment, while I make a just compliment to the
great wisdom and sagacity of our law, which refuses to admit the evidence of a
wife for or against her husband. This, says a certain learned author, who, I
believe, was never quoted before in any but a law-book, would be the means of
creating an eternal dissension between them. It would, indeed, be the means of
much perjury, and of much whipping, fining, imprisoning, transporting, and
hanging.
Partridge
stood a while silent, till, being bid to speak, he said he had already spoken
the truth, and appealed to Heaven for his innocence, and lastly to the girl
herself, whom he desired his worship immediately to send for; for he was
ignorant, or at least pretended to be so, that she had left that part of the
country.
Mr
Allworthy, whose natural love of justice, joined to his coolness of temper,
made him always a most patient magistrate in hearing all the witnesses which an
accused person could produce in his defence, agreed to defer his final
determination of this matter till the arrival of Jenny, for whom he immediately
dispatched a messenger; and then having recommended peace between Partridge and
his wife (though he addressed himself chiefly to the wrong person), he
appointed them to attend again the third day; for he had sent Jenny a whole
day’s journey from his own house.
At the
appointed time the parties all assembled, when the messenger returning brought
word, that Jenny was not to be found; for that she had left her habitation a
few days before, in company with a recruiting officer.
Mr
Allworthy then declared that the evidence of such a slut as she appeared to be
would have deserved no credit; but he said he could not help thinking that, had
she been present, and would have declared the truth, she must have confirmed
what so many circumstances, together with his own confession, and the
declaration of his wife that she had caught her husband in the fact, did
sufficiently prove. He therefore once more exhorted Partridge to confess; but
he still avowing his innocence, Mr Allworthy declared himself satisfied of his
guilt, and that he was too bad a man to receive any encouragement from him. He
therefore deprived him of his annuity, and recommended repentance to him on
account of another world, and industry to maintain himself and his wife in
this.
There were
not, perhaps, many more unhappy persons than poor Partridge. He had lost the
best part of his income by the evidence of his wife, and yet was daily
upbraided by her for having, among other things, been the occasion of depriving
her of that benefit; but such was his fortune, and he was obliged to submit to
it.
Though I
called him poor Partridge in the last paragraph, I would have the reader rather
impute that epithet to the compassion in my temper than conceive it to be any
declaration of his innocence. Whether he was innocent or not will perhaps
appear hereafter; but if the historic muse hath entrusted me with any secrets,
I will by no means be guilty of discovering them till she shall give me leave.
Here
therefore the reader must suspend his curiosity. Certain it is that, whatever
was the truth of the case, there was evidence more than sufficient to convict
him before Allworthy; indeed, much less would have satisfied a bench of
justices on an order of bastardy; and yet, notwithstanding the positiveness of
Mrs Partridge, who would have taken the sacrament upon the matter, there is a
possibility that the schoolmaster was entirely innocent: for though it appeared
clear on comparing the time when Jenny departed from Little Baddington with
that of her delivery that she had there conceived this infant, yet it by no
means followed of necessity that Partridge must have been its father; for, to
omit other particulars, there was in the same house a lad near eighteen,
between whom and Jenny there had subsisted sufficient intimacy to found a
reasonable suspicion; and yet, so blind is jealousy, this circumstance never
once entered into the head of the enraged wife.
Whether
Partridge repented or not, according to Mr Allworthy’s advice, is not so
apparent. Certain it is that his wife repented heartily of the evidence she had
given against him: especially when she found Mrs Deborah had deceived her, and
refused to make any application to Mr Allworthy on her behalf. She had,
however, somewhat better success with Mrs Blifil, who was, as the reader must
have perceived, a much better-tempered woman, and very kindly undertook to
solicit her brother to restore the annuity; in which, though good-nature might
have some share, yet a stronger and more natural motive will appear in the next
chapter.
These
solicitations were nevertheless unsuccessful: for though Mr Allworthy did not
think, with some late writers, that mercy consists only in punishing offenders;
yet he was as far from thinking that it is proper to this excellent quality to
pardon great criminals wantonly, without any reason whatever. Any doubtfulness
of the fact, or any circumstance of mitigation, was never disregarded: but the
petitions of an offender, or the intercessions of others, did not in the least
affect him. In a word, he never pardoned because the offender himself, or his
friends, were unwilling that he should be punished.
Partridge
and his wife were therefore both obliged to submit to their fate; which was
indeed severe enough: for so far was he from doubling his industry on the
account of his lessened income, that he did in a manner abandon himself to
despair; and as he was by nature indolent, that vice now increased upon him, by
which means he lost the little school he had; so that neither his wife nor
himself would have had any bread to eat, had not the charity of some good
Christian interposed, and provided them with what was just sufficient for their
sustenance.
As this
support was conveyed to them by an unknown hand, they imagined, and so, I doubt
not, will the reader, that Mr Allworthy himself was their secret benefactor;
who, though he would not openly encourage vice, could yet privately relieve the
distresses of the vicious themselves, when these became too exquisite and
disproportionate to their demerit. In which light their wretchedness appeared
now to Fortune herself; for she at length took pity on this miserable couple,
and considerably lessened the wretched state of Partridge, by putting a final
end to that of his wife, who soon after caught the small-pox, and died.
The
justice which Mr Allworthy had executed on Partridge at first met with
universal approbation; but no sooner had he felt its consequences, than his
neighbours began to relent, and to compassionate his case; and presently after,
to blame that as rigour and severity which they before called justice. They now
exclaimed against punishing in cold blood, and sang forth the praises of mercy
and forgiveness.
These
cries were considerably increased by the death of Mrs Partridge, which, though
owing to the distemper above mentioned, which is no consequence of poverty or
distress, many were not ashamed to impute to Mr Allworthy’s severity, or, as
they now termed it, cruelty.
Partridge
having now lost his wife, his school, and his annuity, and the unknown person
having now discontinued the last-mentioned charity, resolved to change the
scene, and left the country, where he was in danger of starving, with the
universal compassion of all his neighbours.
To be continued
