TOM JONES
PART 5
BOOK III. — CONTAINING THE MOST MEMORABLE TRANSACTIONS WHICH PASSED IN THE FAMILY OF MR ALLWORTHY, FROM THE TIME WHEN TOMMY JONES ARRIVED AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN, TILL HE ATTAINED THE AGE OF NINETEEN. IN THIS BOOK
THE READER MAY PICK UP SOME HINTS CONCERNING THE EDUCATION OF CHILDREN.
Chapter i. — Containing little or nothing.
The reader
will be pleased to remember, that, at the beginning of the second book of this
history, we gave him a hint of our intention to pass over several large periods
of time, in which nothing happened worthy of being recorded in a chronicle of
this kind.
In so
doing, we do not only consult our own dignity and ease, but the good and
advantage of the reader: for besides that by these means we prevent him from
throwing away his time, in reading without either pleasure or emolument, we
give him, at all such seasons, an opportunity of employing that wonderful
sagacity, of which he is master, by filling up these vacant spaces of time with
his own conjectures; for which purpose we have taken care to qualify him in the
preceding pages.
For
instance, what reader but knows that Mr Allworthy felt, at first, for the loss
of his friend, those emotions of grief, which on such occasions enter into all
men whose hearts are not composed of flint, or their heads of as solid
materials? Again, what reader doth not know that philosophy and religion in
time moderated, and at last extinguished, this grief? The former of these
teaching the folly and vanity of it, and the latter correcting it as unlawful,
and at the same time assuaging it, by raising future hopes and assurances,
which enable a strong and religious mind to take leave of a friend, on his
deathbed, with little less indifference than if he was preparing for a long
journey; and, indeed, with little less hope of seeing him again.
Nor can
the judicious reader be at a greater loss on account of Mrs Bridget Blifil,
who, he may be assured, conducted herself through the whole season in which
grief is to make its appearance on the outside of the body, with the strictest
regard to all the rules of custom and decency, suiting the alterations of her
countenance to the several alterations of her habit: for as this changed from
weeds to black, from black to grey, from grey to white, so did her countenance
change from dismal to sorrowful, from sorrowful to sad, and from sad to serious,
till the day came in which she was allowed to return to her former serenity.
We have
mentioned these two, as examples only of the task which may be imposed on
readers of the lowest class. Much higher and harder exercises of judgment and
penetration may reasonably be expected from the upper graduates in criticism.
Many notable discoveries will, I doubt not, be made by such, of the
transactions which happened in the family of our worthy man, during all the
years which we have thought proper to pass over: for though nothing worthy of a
place in this history occurred within that period, yet did several incidents
happen of equal importance with those reported by the daily and weekly
historians of the age; in reading which great numbers of persons consume a considerable
part of their time, very little, I am afraid, to their emolument. Now, in the
conjectures here proposed, some of the most excellent faculties of the mind may
be employed to much advantage, since it is a more useful capacity to be able to
foretel the actions of men, in any circumstance, from their characters, than to
judge of their characters from their actions. The former, I own, requires the
greater penetration; but may be accomplished by true sagacity with no less
certainty than the latter.
As we are
sensible that much the greatest part of our readers are very eminently
possessed of this quality, we have left them a space of twelve years to exert
it in; and shall now bring forth our heroe, at about fourteen years of age, not
questioning that many have been long impatient to be introduced to his
acquaintance.
Chapter ii. — The heroe of this great history appears with very bad omens. A little tale of so LOW a kind that some may think it not worth their notice. A word or two concerning a squire, and more relating to a gamekeeper and a schoolmaster.
As we
determined, when we first sat down to write this history, to flatter no man,
but to guide our pen throughout by the directions of truth, we are obliged to
bring our heroe on the stage in a much more disadvantageous manner than we
could wish; and to declare honestly, even at his first appearance, that it was
the universal opinion of all Mr Allworthy’s family that he was certainly born
to be hanged.
Indeed, I
am sorry to say there was too much reason for this conjecture; the lad having
from his earliest years discovered a propensity to many vices, and especially
to one which hath as direct a tendency as any other to that fate which we have
just now observed to have been prophetically denounced against him: he had been
already convicted of three robberies, viz., of robbing an orchard, of stealing
a duck out of a farmer’s yard, and of picking Master Blifil’s pocket of a ball.
The vices
of this young man were, moreover, heightened by the disadvantageous light in
which they appeared when opposed to the virtues of Master Blifil, his
companion; a youth of so different a cast from little Jones, that not only the
family but all the neighbourhood resounded his praises. He was, indeed, a lad
of a remarkable disposition; sober, discreet, and pious beyond his age;
qualities which gained him the love of every one who knew him: while Tom Jones
was universally disliked; and many expressed their wonder that Mr Allworthy
would suffer such a lad to be educated with his nephew, lest the morals of the
latter should be corrupted by his example.
An
incident which happened about this time will set the characters of these two
lads more fairly before the discerning reader than is in the power of the
longest dissertation.
Tom Jones,
who, bad as he is, must serve for the heroe of this history, had only one
friend among all the servants of the family; for as to Mrs Wilkins, she had
long since given him up, and was perfectly reconciled to her mistress. This
friend was the gamekeeper, a fellow of a loose kind of disposition, and who was
thought not to entertain much stricter notions concerning the difference of meum
and tuum than the young gentleman himself. And hence this friendship
gave occasion to many sarcastical remarks among the domestics, most of which
were either proverbs before, or at least are become so now; and, indeed, the
wit of them all may be comprised in that short Latin proverb, “Noscitur a
socio;” which, I think, is thus expressed in English, “You may know him by
the company he keeps.”
To say the
truth, some of that atrocious wickedness in Jones, of which we have just
mentioned three examples, might perhaps be derived from the encouragement he
had received from this fellow, who, in two or three instances, had been what
the law calls an accessary after the fact: for the whole duck, and great part
of the apples, were converted to the use of the gamekeeper and his family;
though, as Jones alone was discovered, the poor lad bore not only the whole
smart, but the whole blame; both which fell again to his lot on the following
occasion.
Contiguous
to Mr Allworthy’s estate was the manor of one of those gentlemen who are called
preservers of the game. This species of men, from the great severity with which
they revenge the death of a hare or partridge, might be thought to cultivate
the same superstition with the Bannians in India; many of whom, we are told,
dedicate their whole lives to the preservation and protection of certain
animals; was it not that our English Bannians, while they preserve them from
other enemies, will most unmercifully slaughter whole horse-loads themselves;
so that they stand clearly acquitted of any such heathenish superstition.
I have,
indeed, a much better opinion of this kind of men than is entertained by some,
as I take them to answer the order of Nature, and the good purposes for which
they were ordained, in a more ample manner than many others. Now, as Horace
tells us that there are a set of human beings
Fruges consumere nati,
“Born to
consume the fruits of the earth;” so I make no manner of doubt but that there
are others
Feras consumere nati,
“Born to
consume the beasts of the field;” or, as it is commonly called, the game; and
none, I believe, will deny but that those squires fulfil this end of their
creation.
Little
Jones went one day a shooting with the gamekeeper; when happening to spring a
covey of partridges near the border of that manor over which Fortune, to fulfil
the wise purposes of Nature, had planted one of the game consumers, the birds
flew into it, and were marked (as it is called) by the two sportsmen, in some
furze bushes, about two or three hundred paces beyond Mr Allworthy’s dominions.
Mr
Allworthy had given the fellow strict orders, on pain of forfeiting his place,
never to trespass on any of his neighbours; no more on those who were less
rigid in this matter than on the lord of this manor. With regard to others,
indeed, these orders had not been always very scrupulously kept; but as the
disposition of the gentleman with whom the partridges had taken sanctuary was
well known, the gamekeeper had never yet attempted to invade his territories.
Nor had he done it now, had not the younger sportsman, who was excessively
eager to pursue the flying game, over-persuaded him; but Jones being very
importunate, the other, who was himself keen enough after the sport, yielded to
his persuasions, entered the manor, and shot one of the partridges.
The
gentleman himself was at that time on horse-back, at a little distance from
them; and hearing the gun go off, he immediately made towards the place, and
discovered poor Tom; for the gamekeeper had leapt into the thickest part of the
furze-brake, where he had happily concealed himself.
The
gentleman having searched the lad, and found the partridge upon him, denounced
great vengeance, swearing he would acquaint Mr Allworthy. He was as good as his
word: for he rode immediately to his house, and complained of the trespass on
his manor in as high terms and as bitter language as if his house had been
broken open, and the most valuable furniture stole out of it. He added, that
some other person was in his company, though he could not discover him; for
that two guns had been discharged almost in the same instant. And, says he, “We
have found only this partridge, but the Lord knows what mischief they have
done.”
At his
return home, Tom was presently convened before Mr Allworthy. He owned the fact,
and alledged no other excuse but what was really true, viz., that the covey was
originally sprung in Mr Allworthy’s own manor.
Tom was
then interrogated who was with him, which Mr Allworthy declared he was resolved
to know, acquainting the culprit with the circumstance of the two guns, which
had been deposed by the squire and both his servants; but Tom stoutly persisted
in asserting that he was alone; yet, to say the truth, he hesitated a little at
first, which would have confirmed Mr Allworthy’s belief, had what the squire
and his servants said wanted any further confirmation.
The gamekeeper,
being a suspected person, was now sent for, and the question put to him; but
he, relying on the promise which Tom had made him, to take all upon himself,
very resolutely denied being in company with the young gentleman, or indeed
having seen him the whole afternoon.
Mr
Allworthy then turned towards Tom, with more than usual anger in his
countenance, and advised him to confess who was with him; repeating, that he
was resolved to know. The lad, however, still maintained his resolution, and
was dismissed with much wrath by Mr Allworthy, who told him he should have to
the next morning to consider of it, when he should be questioned by another
person, and in another manner.
Poor Jones
spent a very melancholy night; and the more so, as he was without his usual
companion; for Master Blifil was gone abroad on a visit with his mother. Fear
of the punishment he was to suffer was on this occasion his least evil; his
chief anxiety being, lest his constancy should fail him, and he should be
brought to betray the gamekeeper, whose ruin he knew must now be the
consequence.
Nor did
the gamekeeper pass his time much better. He had the same apprehensions with
the youth; for whose honour he had likewise a much tenderer regard than for his
skin.
In the
morning, when Tom attended the reverend Mr Thwackum, the person to whom Mr
Allworthy had committed the instruction of the two boys, he had the same
questions put to him by that gentleman which he had been asked the evening
before, to which he returned the same answers. The consequence of this was, so
severe a whipping, that it possibly fell little short of the torture with which
confessions are in some countries extorted from criminals.
Tom bore
his punishment with great resolution; and though his master asked him, between
every stroke, whether he would not confess, he was contented to be flead rather
than betray his friend, or break the promise he had made.
The
gamekeeper was now relieved from his anxiety, and Mr Allworthy himself began to
be concerned at Tom’s sufferings: for besides that Mr Thwackum, being highly
enraged that he was not able to make the boy say what he himself pleased, had
carried his severity much beyond the good man’s intention, this latter began
now to suspect that the squire had been mistaken; which his extreme eagerness
and anger seemed to make probable; and as for what the servants had said in
confirmation of their master’s account, he laid no great stress upon that. Now,
as cruelty and injustice were two ideas of which Mr Allworthy could by no means
support the consciousness a single moment, he sent for Tom, and after many kind
and friendly exhortations, said, “I am convinced, my dear child, that my
suspicions have wronged you; I am sorry that you have been so severely punished
on this account.” And at last gave him a little horse to make him amends; again
repeating his sorrow for what had past.
Tom’s
guilt now flew in his face more than any severity could make it. He could more
easily bear the lashes of Thwackum, than the generosity of Allworthy. The tears
burst from his eyes, and he fell upon his knees, crying, “Oh, sir, you are too
good to me. Indeed you are. Indeed I don’t deserve it.” And at that very
instant, from the fulness of his heart, had almost betrayed the secret; but the
good genius of the gamekeeper suggested to him what might be the consequence to
the poor fellow, and this consideration sealed his lips.
Thwackum
did all he could to persuade Allworthy from showing any compassion or kindness
to the boy, saying, “He had persisted in an untruth;” and gave some hints, that
a second whipping might probably bring the matter to light.
But Mr
Allworthy absolutely refused to consent to the experiment. He said, the boy had
suffered enough already for concealing the truth, even if he was guilty, seeing
that he could have no motive but a mistaken point of honour for so doing.
“Honour!”
cryed Thwackum, with some warmth, “mere stubbornness and obstinacy! Can honour
teach any one to tell a lie, or can any honour exist independent of religion?”
This
discourse happened at table when dinner was just ended; and there were present
Mr Allworthy, Mr Thwackum, and a third gentleman, who now entered into the
debate, and whom, before we proceed any further, we shall briefly introduce to
our reader’s acquaintance.
Chapter iii. — The character of Mr Square the philosopher, and of Mr Thwackum the divine; with a dispute concerning——
The name
of this gentleman, who had then resided some time at Mr Allworthy’s house, was
Mr Square. His natural parts were not of the first rate, but he had greatly
improved them by a learned education. He was deeply read in the antients, and a
profest master of all the works of Plato and Aristotle. Upon which great models
he had principally formed himself; sometimes according with the opinion of the
one, and sometimes with that of the other. In morals he was a profest
Platonist, and in religion he inclined to be an Aristotelian.
But though
he had, as we have said, formed his morals on the Platonic model, yet he
perfectly agreed with the opinion of Aristotle, in considering that great man
rather in the quality of a philosopher or a speculatist, than as a legislator.
This sentiment he carried a great way; indeed, so far, as to regard all virtue
as matter of theory only. This, it is true, he never affirmed, as I have heard,
to any one; and yet upon the least attention to his conduct, I cannot help
thinking it was his real opinion, as it will perfectly reconcile some
contradictions which might otherwise appear in his character.
This
gentleman and Mr Thwackum scarce ever met without a disputation; for their
tenets were indeed diametrically opposite to each other. Square held human
nature to be the perfection of all virtue, and that vice was a deviation from
our nature, in the same manner as deformity of body is. Thwackum, on the
contrary, maintained that the human mind, since the fall, was nothing but a
sink of iniquity, till purified and redeemed by grace. In one point only they
agreed, which was, in all their discourses on morality never to mention the
word goodness. The favourite phrase of the former, was the natural beauty of
virtue; that of the latter, was the divine power of grace. The former measured
all actions by the unalterable rule of right, and the eternal fitness of
things; the latter decided all matters by authority; but in doing this, he
always used the scriptures and their commentators, as the lawyer doth his Coke
upon Lyttleton, where the comment is of equal authority with the text.
After this
short introduction, the reader will be pleased to remember, that the parson had
concluded his speech with a triumphant question, to which he had apprehended no
answer; viz., Can any honour exist independent on religion?
To this
Square answered; that it was impossible to discourse philosophically concerning
words, till their meaning was first established: that there were scarce any two
words of a more vague and uncertain signification, than the two he had
mentioned; for that there were almost as many different opinions concerning
honour, as concerning religion. “But,” says he, “if by honour you mean the true
natural beauty of virtue, I will maintain it may exist independent of any
religion whatever. Nay,” added he, “you yourself will allow it may exist
independent of all but one: so will a Mahometan, a Jew, and all the maintainers
of all the different sects in the world.”
Thwackum
replied, this was arguing with the usual malice of all the enemies to the true
Church. He said, he doubted not but that all the infidels and hereticks in the
world would, if they could, confine honour to their own absurd errors and
damnable deceptions; “but honour,” says he, “is not therefore manifold, because
there are many absurd opinions about it; nor is religion manifold, because
there are various sects and heresies in the world. When I mention religion, I
mean the Christian religion; and not only the Christian religion, but the
Protestant religion; and not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England.
And when I mention honour, I mean that mode of Divine grace which is not only
consistent with, but dependent upon, this religion; and is consistent with and
dependent upon no other. Now to say that the honour I here mean, and which was,
I thought, all the honour I could be supposed to mean, will uphold, much less
dictate an untruth, is to assert an absurdity too shocking to be conceived.”
“I
purposely avoided,” says Square, “drawing a conclusion which I thought evident
from what I have said; but if you perceived it, I am sure you have not
attempted to answer it. However, to drop the article of religion, I think it is
plain, from what you have said, that we have different ideas of honour; or why
do we not agree in the same terms of its explanation? I have asserted, that
true honour and true virtue are almost synonymous terms, and they are both
founded on the unalterable rule of right, and the eternal fitness of things; to
which an untruth being absolutely repugnant and contrary, it is certain that
true honour cannot support an untruth. In this, therefore, I think we are
agreed; but that this honour can be said to be founded on religion, to which it
is antecedent, if by religion be meant any positive law—”
“I agree,”
answered Thwackum, with great warmth, “with a man who asserts honour to be
antecedent to religion! Mr Allworthy, did I agree—?”
He was
proceeding when Mr Allworthy interposed, telling them very coldly, they had
both mistaken his meaning; for that he had said nothing of true honour.—It is
possible, however, he would not have easily quieted the disputants, who were
growing equally warm, had not another matter now fallen out, which put a final
end to the conversation at present.
Chapter iv. — Containing a necessary apology for the author; and a childish incident, which perhaps requires an apology likewise.
Before I
proceed farther, I shall beg leave to obviate some misconstructions into which
the zeal of some few readers may lead them; for I would not willingly give
offence to any, especially to men who are warm in the cause of virtue or
religion.
I hope,
therefore, no man will, by the grossest misunderstanding or perversion of my
meaning, misrepresent me, as endeavouring to cast any ridicule on the greatest
perfections of human nature; and which do, indeed, alone purify and ennoble the
heart of man, and raise him above the brute creation. This, reader, I will
venture to say (and by how much the better man you are yourself, by so much the
more will you be inclined to believe me), that I would rather have buried the
sentiments of these two persons in eternal oblivion, than have done any injury
to either of these glorious causes.
On the
contrary, it is with a view to their service, that I have taken upon me to
record the lives and actions of two of their false and pretended champions. A
treacherous friend is the most dangerous enemy; and I will say boldly, that
both religion and virtue have received more real discredit from hypocrites than
the wittiest profligates or infidels could ever cast upon them: nay, farther,
as these two, in their purity, are rightly called the bands of civil society,
and are indeed the greatest of blessings; so when poisoned and corrupted with
fraud, pretence, and affectation, they have become the worst of civil curses,
and have enabled men to perpetrate the most cruel mischiefs to their own
species.
Indeed, I
doubt not but this ridicule will in general be allowed: my chief apprehension
is, as many true and just sentiments often came from the mouths of these
persons, lest the whole should be taken together, and I should be conceived to
ridicule all alike. Now the reader will be pleased to consider, that, as
neither of these men were fools, they could not be supposed to have holden none
but wrong principles, and to have uttered nothing but absurdities; what
injustice, therefore, must I have done to their characters, had I selected only
what was bad! And how horribly wretched and maimed must their arguments have
appeared!
Upon the
whole, it is not religion or virtue, but the want of them, which is here
exposed. Had not Thwackum too much neglected virtue, and Square, religion, in
the composition of their several systems, and had not both utterly discarded
all natural goodness of heart, they had never been represented as the objects
of derision in this history; in which we will now proceed.
This
matter then, which put an end to the debate mentioned in the last chapter, was
no other than a quarrel between Master Blifil and Tom Jones, the consequence of
which had been a bloody nose to the former; for though Master Blifil,
notwithstanding he was the younger, was in size above the other’s match, yet
Tom was much his superior at the noble art of boxing.
Tom,
however, cautiously avoided all engagements with that youth; for besides that
Tommy Jones was an inoffensive lad amidst all his roguery, and really loved
Blifil, Mr Thwackum being always the second of the latter, would have been
sufficient to deter him.
But well
says a certain author, No man is wise at all hours; it is therefore no wonder
that a boy is not so. A difference arising at play between the two lads, Master
Blifil called Tom a beggarly bastard. Upon which the latter, who was somewhat
passionate in his disposition, immediately caused that phenomenon in the face
of the former, which we have above remembered.
Master
Blifil now, with his blood running from his nose, and the tears galloping after
from his eyes, appeared before his uncle and the tremendous Thwackum. In which
court an indictment of assault, battery, and wounding, was instantly preferred
against Tom; who in his excuse only pleaded the provocation, which was indeed
all the matter that Master Blifil had omitted.
It is
indeed possible that this circumstance might have escaped his memory; for, in
his reply, he positively insisted, that he had made use of no such appellation;
adding, “Heaven forbid such naughty words should ever come out of his mouth!”
Tom,
though against all form of law, rejoined in affirmance of the words. Upon which
Master Blifil said, “It is no wonder. Those who will tell one fib, will hardly
stick at another. If I had told my master such a wicked fib as you have done, I
should be ashamed to show my face.”
“What fib,
child?” cries Thwackum pretty eagerly.
“Why, he
told you that nobody was with him a shooting when he killed the partridge; but
he knows” (here he burst into a flood of tears), “yes, he knows, for he
confessed it to me, that Black George the gamekeeper was there. Nay, he
said—yes you did—deny it if you can, that you would not have confest the truth,
though master had cut you to pieces.”
At this
the fire flashed from Thwackum’s eyes, and he cried out in triumph—“Oh! ho!
this is your mistaken notion of honour! This is the boy who was not to be
whipped again!” But Mr Allworthy, with a more gentle aspect, turned towards the
lad, and said, “Is this true, child? How came you to persist so obstinately in
a falsehood?”
Tom said,
“He scorned a lie as much as any one: but he thought his honour engaged him to
act as he did; for he had promised the poor fellow to conceal him: which,” he
said, “he thought himself farther obliged to, as the gamekeeper had begged him
not to go into the gentleman’s manor, and had at last gone himself, in
compliance with his persuasions.” He said, “This was the whole truth of the
matter, and he would take his oath of it;” and concluded with very passionately
begging Mr Allworthy “to have compassion on the poor fellow’s family,
especially as he himself only had been guilty, and the other had been very
difficultly prevailed on to do what he did. Indeed, sir,” said he, “it could
hardly be called a lie that I told; for the poor fellow was entirely innocent
of the whole matter. I should have gone alone after the birds; nay, I did go at
first, and he only followed me to prevent more mischief. Do, pray, sir, let me
be punished; take my little horse away again; but pray, sir, forgive poor
George.”
Mr
Allworthy hesitated a few moments, and then dismissed the boys, advising them
to live more friendly and peaceably together.
Chapter v. — The opinions of the divine and the philosopher concerning the two boys; with some reasons for their opinions, and other matters.
It is
probable, that by disclosing this secret, which had been communicated in the
utmost confidence to him, young Blifil preserved his companion from a good
lashing; for the offence of the bloody nose would have been of itself
sufficient cause for Thwackum to have proceeded to correction; but now this was
totally absorbed in the consideration of the other matter; and with regard to
this, Mr Allworthy declared privately, he thought the boy deserved reward
rather than punishment, so that Thwackum’s hand was withheld by a general
pardon.
Thwackum,
whose meditations were full of birch, exclaimed against this weak, and, as he
said he would venture to call it, wicked lenity. To remit the punishment of
such crimes was, he said, to encourage them. He enlarged much on the correction
of children, and quoted many texts from Solomon, and others; which being to be
found in so many other books, shall not be found here. He then applied himself
to the vice of lying, on which head he was altogether as learned as he had been
on the other.
Square
said, he had been endeavouring to reconcile the behaviour of Tom with his idea
of perfect virtue, but could not. He owned there was something which at first
sight appeared like fortitude in the action; but as fortitude was a virtue, and
falsehood a vice, they could by no means agree or unite together. He added,
that as this was in some measure to confound virtue and vice, it might be worth
Mr Thwackum’s consideration, whether a larger castigation might not be laid on
upon the account.
As both
these learned men concurred in censuring Jones, so were they no less unanimous
in applauding Master Blifil. To bring truth to light, was by the parson
asserted to be the duty of every religious man; and by the philosopher this was
declared to be highly conformable with the rule of right, and the eternal and
unalterable fitness of things.
All this, however,
weighed very little with Mr Allworthy. He could not be prevailed on to sign the
warrant for the execution of Jones. There was something within his own breast
with which the invincible fidelity which that youth had preserved, corresponded
much better than it had done with the religion of Thwackum, or with the virtue
of Square. He therefore strictly ordered the former of these gentlemen to
abstain from laying violent hands on Tom for what had past. The pedagogue was
obliged to obey those orders; but not without great reluctance, and frequent
mutterings that the boy would be certainly spoiled.
Towards
the gamekeeper the good man behaved with more severity. He presently summoned
that poor fellow before him, and after many bitter remonstrances, paid him his
wages, and dismist him from his service; for Mr Allworthy rightly observed,
that there was a great difference between being guilty of a falsehood to excuse
yourself, and to excuse another. He likewise urged, as the principal motive to
his inflexible severity against this man, that he had basely suffered Tom Jones
to undergo so heavy a punishment for his sake, whereas he ought to have
prevented it by making the discovery himself.
When this
story became public, many people differed from Square and Thwackum, in judging
the conduct of the two lads on the occasion. Master Blifil was generally called
a sneaking rascal, a poor-spirited wretch, with other epithets of the like
kind; whilst Tom was honoured with the appellations of a brave lad, a jolly
dog, and an honest fellow. Indeed, his behaviour to Black George much
ingratiated him with all the servants; for though that fellow was before
universally disliked, yet he was no sooner turned away than he was as
universally pitied; and the friendship and gallantry of Tom Jones was
celebrated by them all with the highest applause; and they condemned Master
Blifil as openly as they durst, without incurring the danger of offending his
mother. For all this, however, poor Tom smarted in the flesh; for though
Thwackum had been inhibited to exercise his arm on the foregoing account, yet,
as the proverb says, It is easy to find a stick, &c. So was it easy to find
a rod; and, indeed, the not being able to find one was the only thing which
could have kept Thwackum any long time from chastising poor Jones.
Had the
bare delight in the sport been the only inducement to the pedagogue, it is
probable Master Blifil would likewise have had his share; but though Mr
Allworthy had given him frequent orders to make no difference between the lads,
yet was Thwackum altogether as kind and gentle to this youth, as he was harsh,
nay even barbarous, to the other. To say the truth, Blifil had greatly gained
his master’s affections; partly by the profound respect he always showed his
person, but much more by the decent reverence with which he received his
doctrine; for he had got by heart, and frequently repeated, his phrases, and
maintained all his master’s religious principles with a zeal which was
surprizing in one so young, and which greatly endeared him to the worthy
preceptor.
Tom Jones,
on the other hand, was not only deficient in outward tokens of respect, often
forgetting to pull off his hat, or to bow at his master’s approach; but was
altogether as unmindful both of his master’s precepts and example. He was
indeed a thoughtless, giddy youth, with little sobriety in his manners, and
less in his countenance; and would often very impudently and indecently laugh
at his companion for his serious behaviour.
Mr Square
had the same reason for his preference of the former lad; for Tom Jones showed
no more regard to the learned discourses which this gentleman would sometimes
throw away upon him, than to those of Thwackum. He once ventured to make a jest
of the rule of right; and at another time said, he believed there was no rule
in the world capable of making such a man as his father (for so Mr Allworthy
suffered himself to be called).
Master
Blifil, on the contrary, had address enough at sixteen to recommend himself at
one and the same time to both these opposites. With one he was all religion,
with the other he was all virtue. And when both were present, he was profoundly
silent, which both interpreted in his favour and in their own.
Nor was
Blifil contented with flattering both these gentlemen to their faces; he took
frequent occasions of praising them behind their backs to Allworthy; before
whom, when they two were alone, and his uncle commended any religious or
virtuous sentiment (for many such came constantly from him) he seldom failed to
ascribe it to the good instructions he had received from either Thwackum or
Square; for he knew his uncle repeated all such compliments to the persons for
whose use they were meant; and he found by experience the great impressions
which they made on the philosopher, as well as on the divine: for, to say the
truth, there is no kind of flattery so irresistible as this, at second hand.
The young
gentleman, moreover, soon perceived how extremely grateful all those panegyrics
on his instructors were to Mr Allworthy himself, as they so loudly resounded
the praise of that singular plan of education which he had laid down; for this
worthy man having observed the imperfect institution of our public schools, and
the many vices which boys were there liable to learn, had resolved to educate
his nephew, as well as the other lad, whom he had in a manner adopted, in his
own house; where he thought their morals would escape all that danger of being
corrupted to which they would be unavoidably exposed in any public school or university.
Having,
therefore, determined to commit these boys to the tuition of a private tutor,
Mr Thwackum was recommended to him for that office, by a very particular
friend, of whose understanding Mr Allworthy had a great opinion, and in whose
integrity he placed much confidence. This Thwackum was fellow of a college,
where he almost entirely resided; and had a great reputation for learning,
religion, and sobriety of manners. And these were doubtless the qualifications
by which Mr Allworthy’s friend had been induced to recommend him; though indeed
this friend had some obligations to Thwackum’s family, who were the most
considerable persons in a borough which that gentleman represented in
parliament.
Thwackum,
at his first arrival, was extremely agreeable to Allworthy; and indeed he
perfectly answered the character which had been given of him. Upon longer
acquaintance, however, and more intimate conversation, this worthy man saw
infirmities in the tutor, which he could have wished him to have been without;
though as those seemed greatly overbalanced by his good qualities, they did not
incline Mr Allworthy to part with him: nor would they indeed have justified
such a proceeding; for the reader is greatly mistaken, if he conceives that
Thwackum appeared to Mr Allworthy in the same light as he doth to him in this
history; and he is as much deceived, if he imagines that the most intimate
acquaintance which he himself could have had with that divine, would have
informed him of those things which we, from our inspiration, are enabled to
open and discover. Of readers who, from such conceits as these, condemn the
wisdom or penetration of Mr Allworthy, I shall not scruple to say, that they
make a very bad and ungrateful use of that knowledge which we have communicated
to them.
These
apparent errors in the doctrine of Thwackum served greatly to palliate the
contrary errors in that of Square, which our good man no less saw and
condemned. He thought, indeed, that the different exuberancies of these
gentlemen would correct their different imperfections; and that from both,
especially with his assistance, the two lads would derive sufficient precepts
of true religion and virtue. If the event happened contrary to his
expectations, this possibly proceeded from some fault in the plan itself; which
the reader hath my leave to discover, if he can: for we do not pretend to
introduce any infallible characters into this history; where we hope nothing
will be found which hath never yet been seen in human nature.
To return
therefore: the reader will not, I think, wonder that the different behaviour of
the two lads above commemorated, produced the different effects of which he
hath already seen some instance; and besides this, there was another reason for
the conduct of the philosopher and the pedagogue; but this being matter of
great importance, we shall reveal it in the next chapter.
Chapter vi. — Containing a better reason still for the before-mentioned opinions.
It is to
be known then, that those two learned personages, who have lately made a
considerable figure on the theatre of this history, had, from their first
arrival at Mr Allworthy’s house, taken so great an affection, the one to his
virtue, the other to his religion, that they had meditated the closest alliance
with him.
For this
purpose they had cast their eyes on that fair widow, whom, though we have not
for some time made any mention of her, the reader, we trust, hath not forgot.
Mrs Blifil was indeed the object to which they both aspired.
It may
seem remarkable, that, of four persons whom we have commemorated at Mr
Allworthy’s house, three of them should fix their inclinations on a lady who
was never greatly celebrated for her beauty, and who was, moreover, now a
little descended into the vale of years; but in reality bosom friends, and
intimate acquaintance, have a kind of natural propensity to particular females
at the house of a friend—viz., to his grandmother, mother, sister, daughter,
aunt, niece, or cousin, when they are rich; and to his wife, sister, daughter,
niece, cousin, mistress, or servant-maid, if they should be handsome.
We would
not, however, have our reader imagine, that persons of such characters as were
supported by Thwackum and Square, would undertake a matter of this kind, which
hath been a little censured by some rigid moralists, before they had thoroughly
examined it, and considered whether it was (as Shakespear phrases it) “Stuff o’
th’ conscience,” or no. Thwackum was encouraged to the undertaking by
reflecting that to covet your neighbour’s sister is nowhere forbidden: and he
knew it was a rule in the construction of all laws, that “Expressum facit
cessare tacitum.” The sense of which is, “When a lawgiver sets down plainly
his whole meaning, we are prevented from making him mean what we please
ourselves.” As some instances of women, therefore, are mentioned in the divine
law, which forbids us to covet our neighbour’s goods, and that of a sister
omitted, he concluded it to be lawful. And as to Square, who was in his person
what is called a jolly fellow, or a widow’s man, he easily reconciled his
choice to the eternal fitness of things.
Now, as
both of these gentlemen were industrious in taking every opportunity of
recommending themselves to the widow, they apprehended one certain method was,
by giving her son the constant preference to the other lad; and as they
conceived the kindness and affection which Mr Allworthy showed the latter, must
be highly disagreeable to her, they doubted not but the laying hold on all
occasions to degrade and vilify him, would be highly pleasing to her; who, as
she hated the boy, must love all those who did him any hurt. In this Thwackum
had the advantage; for while Square could only scarify the poor lad’s
reputation, he could flea his skin; and, indeed, he considered every lash he
gave him as a compliment paid to his mistress; so that he could, with the
utmost propriety, repeat this old flogging line, “Castigo te non quod odio
habeam, sed quod AMEM. I chastise thee not out of hatred, but out of love.”
And this, indeed, he often had in his mouth, or rather, according to the old
phrase, never more properly applied, at his fingers’ ends.
For this
reason, principally, the two gentlemen concurred, as we have seen above, in
their opinion concerning the two lads; this being, indeed, almost the only
instance of their concurring on any point; for, beside the difference of their
principles, they had both long ago strongly suspected each other’s design, and
hated one another with no little degree of inveteracy.
This
mutual animosity was a good deal increased by their alternate successes; for
Mrs Blifil knew what they would be at long before they imagined it; or, indeed,
intended she should: for they proceeded with great caution, lest she should be
offended, and acquaint Mr Allworthy. But they had no reason for any such fear;
she was well enough pleased with a passion, of which she intended none should
have any fruits but herself. And the only fruits she designed for herself were,
flattery and courtship; for which purpose she soothed them by turns, and a long
time equally. She was, indeed, rather inclined to favour the parson’s
principles; but Square’s person was more agreeable to her eye, for he was a
comely man; whereas the pedagogue did in countenance very nearly resemble that
gentleman, who, in the Harlot’s Progress, is seen correcting the ladies in
Bridewell.
Whether
Mrs Blifil had been surfeited with the sweets of marriage, or disgusted by its
bitters, or from what other cause it proceeded, I will not determine; but she
could never be brought to listen to any second proposals. However, she at last
conversed with Square with such a degree of intimacy that malicious tongues
began to whisper things of her, to which, as well for the sake of the lady, as
that they were highly disagreeable to the rule of right and the fitness of
things, we will give no credit, and therefore shall not blot our paper with
them. The pedagogue, ‘tis certain, whipped on, without getting a step nearer to
his journey’s end.
Indeed he
had committed a great error, and that Square discovered much sooner than
himself. Mrs Blifil (as, perhaps, the reader may have formerly guessed) was not
over and above pleased with the behaviour of her husband; nay, to be honest,
she absolutely hated him, till his death at last a little reconciled him to her
affections. It will not be therefore greatly wondered at, if she had not the
most violent regard to the offspring she had by him. And, in fact, she had so
little of this regard, that in his infancy she seldom saw her son, or took any
notice of him; and hence she acquiesced, after a little reluctance, in all the
favours which Mr Allworthy showered on the foundling; whom the good man called
his own boy, and in all things put on an entire equality with Master Blifil.
This acquiescence in Mrs Blifil was considered by the neighbours, and by the
family, as a mark of her condescension to her brother’s humour, and she was
imagined by all others, as well as Thwackum and Square, to hate the foundling
in her heart; nay, the more civility she showed him, the more they conceived
she detested him, and the surer schemes she was laying for his ruin: for as
they thought it her interest to hate him, it was very difficult for her to persuade
them she did not.
Thwackum
was the more confirmed in his opinion, as she had more than once slily caused
him to whip Tom Jones, when Mr Allworthy, who was an enemy to this exercise,
was abroad; whereas she had never given any such orders concerning young
Blifil. And this had likewise imposed upon Square. In reality, though she
certainly hated her own son—of which, however monstrous it appears, I am
assured she is not a singular instance—she appeared, notwithstanding all her
outward compliance, to be in her heart sufficiently displeased with all the
favour shown by Mr Allworthy to the foundling. She frequently complained of
this behind her brother’s back, and very sharply censured him for it, both to
Thwackum and Square; nay, she would throw it in the teeth of Allworthy himself,
when a little quarrel, or miff, as it is vulgarly called, arose between them.
However,
when Tom grew up, and gave tokens of that gallantry of temper which greatly
recommends men to women, this disinclination which she had discovered to him
when a child, by degrees abated, and at last she so evidently demonstrated her
affection to him to be much stronger than what she bore her own son, that it
was impossible to mistake her any longer. She was so desirous of often seeing
him, and discovered such satisfaction and delight in his company, that before
he was eighteen years old he was become a rival to both Square and Thwackum;
and what is worse, the whole country began to talk as loudly of her inclination
to Tom, as they had before done of that which she had shown to Square: on which
account the philosopher conceived the most implacable hatred for our poor
heroe.
To be continued
