History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
young man; and hearing from the surgeon that affairs were like to go
ill with the volunteer, she suspected they might hereafter wear no
benign aspect with the ensign. Having obtained, therefore, leave to
make him a visit, and finding him in a very melancholy mood, which she
considerably heightened by telling him there were scarce any hopes of
the volunteer's life, she proceeded to throw forth some hints, which
the other readily and eagerly taking up, they soon came to a right
understanding; and it was at length agreed that the ensign should, at
a certain signal, ascend the chimney, which communicating very soon
with that of the kitchen, he might there again let himself down; for
which she would give him an opportunity by keeping the coast clear.
But lest our readers, of a different complexion, should take this
occasion of too hastily condemning all compassion as a folly, and
pernicious to society, we think proper to mention another particular
which might possibly have some little share in this action. The ensign
happened to be at this time possessed of the sum of fifty pounds,
which did indeed belong to the whole company; for the captain having
quarrelled with his lieutenant, had entrusted the payment of his
company to the ensign. This money, however, he thought proper to
deposit in my landlady's hand, possibly by way of bail or security
that he would hereafter appear and answer to the charge against him;
but whatever were the conditions, certain it is, that she had the
money and the ensign his liberty.
The reader may perhaps expect, from the compassionate temper of this
good woman, that when she saw the poor centinel taken prisoner for a
fact of which she knew him innocent, she should immediately have
interposed in his behalf; but whether it was that she had already
exhausted all her compassion in the above-mentioned instance, or that
the features of this fellow, though not very different from those of
the ensign, could not raise it, I will not determine; but, far from
being an advocate for the present prisoner, she urged his guilt to his
officer, declaring, with uplifted eyes and hands, that she would not
have had any concern in the escape of a murderer for all the world.
Everything was now once more quiet, and most of the company returned
again to their beds; but the landlady, either from the natural
activity of her disposition, or from her fear for her plate, having no
propensity to sleep, prevailed with the officers, as they were to
march within little more than an hour, to spend that time with her
over a bowl of punch.
Jones had lain awake all this while, and had heard great part of the
hurry and bustle that had passed, of which he had now some curiosity
to know the particulars. He therefore applied to his bell, which he
rung at least twenty times without any effect: for my landlady was in
such high mirth with her company, that no clapper could be heard there
but her own; and the drawer and chambermaid, who were sitting together
in the kitchen (for neither durst he sit up nor she lie in bed alone),
the more they heard the bell ring the more they were frightened, and
as it were nailed down in their places.
At last, at a lucky interval of chat, the sound reached the ears of
our good landlady, who presently sent forth her summons, which both
her servants instantly obeyed. “Joe,” says the mistress, “don't you
hear the gentleman's bell ring? Why don't you go up?”--“It is not my
business,” answered the drawer, “to wait upon the chambers--it is
Betty Chambermaid's.”--“If you come to that,” answered the maid, “it
is not my business to wait upon gentlemen. I have done it indeed
sometimes; but the devil fetch me if ever I do again, since you make
your preambles about it.” The bell still ringing violently, their
mistress fell into a passion, and swore, if the drawer did not go up
immediately, she would turn him away that very morning. “If you do,
madam,” says he, “I can't help it. I won't do another servant's
business.” She then applied herself to the maid, and endeavoured to
prevail by gentle means; but all in vain: Betty was as inflexible as
Joe. Both insisted it was not their business, and they would not do
it.
The lieutenant then fell a laughing, and said, “Come, I will put an
end to this contention;” and then turning to the servants, commended
them for their resolution in not giving up the point; but added, he
was sure, if one would consent to go the other would. To which
proposal they both agreed in an instant, and accordingly went up very
lovingly and close together. When they were gone, the lieutenant
appeased the wrath of the landlady, by satisfying her why they were
both so unwilling to go alone.
They returned soon after, and acquainted their mistress, that the sick
gentleman was so far from being dead, that he spoke as heartily as if
he was well; and that he gave his service to the captain, and should
be very glad of the favour of seeing him before he marched.
The good lieutenant immediately complied with his desires, and sitting
down by his bed-side, acquainted him with the scene which had happened
below, concluding with his intentions to make an example of the
centinel.
Upon this Jones related to him the whole truth, and earnestly begged
him not to punish the poor soldier, “who, I am confident,” says he,
“is as innocent of the ensign's escape, as he is of forging any lie,
or of endeavouring to impose on you.”
The lieutenant hesitated a few moments, and then answered: “Why, as
you have cleared the fellow of one part of the charge, so it will be
impossible to prove the other, because he was not the only centinel.
But I have a good mind to punish the rascal for being a coward. Yet
who knows what effect the terror of such an apprehension may have?
and, to say the truth, he hath always behaved well against an enemy.
Come, it is a good thing to see any sign of religion in these fellows;
so I promise you he shall be set at liberty when we march. But hark,
the general beats. My dear boy, give me another buss. Don't discompose
nor hurry yourself; but remember the Christian doctrine of patience,
and I warrant you will soon be able to do yourself justice, and to
take an honourable revenge on the fellow who hath injured you.” The
lieutenant then departed, and Jones endeavoured to compose himself to
rest.
BOOK VIII.
CONTAINING ABOUT TWO DAYS.
Chapter i.
A wonderful long chapter concerning the marvellous; being much the
longest of all our introductory chapters.
As we are now entering upon a book in which the course of our history
will oblige us to relate some matters of a more strange and surprizing
kind than any which have hitherto occurred, it may not be amiss, in
the prolegomenous or introductory chapter, to say something of that
species of writing which is called the marvellous. To this we shall,
as well for the sake of ourselves as of others, endeavour to set some
certain bounds, and indeed nothing can be more necessary, as
critics[*] of different complexions are here apt to run into very
different extremes; for while some are, with M. Dacier, ready to
allow, that the same thing which is impossible may be yet
probable,[**] others have so little historic or poetic faith, that they
believe nothing to be either possible or probable, the like to which
hath not occurred to their own observation.
[*] By this word here, and in most other parts of our work, we mean
every reader in the world.
[**] It is happy for M. Dacier that he was not an Irishman.
First, then, I think it may very reasonably be required of every
writer, that he keeps within the bounds of possibility; and still
remembers that what it is not possible for man to perform, it is
scarce possible for man to believe he did perform. This conviction
perhaps gave birth to many stories of the antient heathen deities (for
most of them are of poetical original). The poet, being desirous to
indulge a wanton and extravagant imagination, took refuge in that
power, of the extent of which his readers were no judges, or rather
which they imagined to be infinite, and consequently they could not be
shocked at any prodigies related of it. This hath been strongly urged
in defence of Homer's miracles; and it is perhaps a defence; not, as
Mr Pope would have it, because Ulysses told a set of foolish lies to
the Phaeacians, who were a very dull nation; but because the poet
himself wrote to heathens, to whom poetical fables were articles of
faith. For my own part, I must confess, so compassionate is my temper,
I wish Polypheme had confined himself to his milk diet, and preserved
his eye; nor could Ulysses be much more concerned than myself, when
his companions were turned into swine by Circe, who showed, I think,
afterwards, too much regard for man's flesh to be supposed capable of
converting it into bacon. I wish, likewise, with all my heart, that
Homer could have known the rule prescribed by Horace, to introduce
supernatural agents as seldom as possible. We should not then have
seen his gods coming on trivial errands, and often behaving themselves
so as not only to forfeit all title to respect, but to become the
objects of scorn and derision. A conduct which must have shocked the
credulity of a pious and sagacious heathen; and which could never have
been defended, unless by agreeing with a supposition to which I have
been sometimes almost inclined, that this most glorious poet, as he
certainly was, had an intent to burlesque the superstitious faith of
his own age and country.
But I have rested too long on a doctrine which can be of no use to a
Christian writer; for as he cannot introduce into his works any of
that heavenly host which make a part of his creed, so it is horrid
puerility to search the heathen theology for any of those deities who
have been long since dethroned from their immortality. Lord
Shaftesbury observes, that nothing is more cold than the invocation of
a muse by a modern; he might have added, that nothing can be more
absurd. A modern may with much more elegance invoke a ballad, as some
have thought Homer did, or a mug of ale, with the author of Hudibras;
which latter may perhaps have inspired much more poetry, as well as
prose, than all the liquors of Hippocrene or Helicon.
The only supernatural agents which can in any manner be allowed to us
moderns, are ghosts; but of these I would advise an author to be
extremely sparing. These are indeed, like arsenic, and other dangerous
drugs in physic, to be used with the utmost caution; nor would I
advise the introduction of them at all in those works, or by those
authors, to which, or to whom, a horse-laugh in the reader would be
any great prejudice or mortification.
As for elves and fairies, and other such mummery, I purposely omit the
mention of them, as I should be very unwilling to confine within any
bounds those surprizing imaginations, for whose vast capacity the
limits of human nature are too narrow; whose works are to be
considered as a new creation; and who have consequently just right to
do what they will with their own.
Man therefore is the highest subject (unless on very extraordinary
occasions indeed) which presents itself to the pen of our historian,
or of our poet; and, in relating his actions, great care is to be
taken that we do not exceed the capacity of the agent we describe.
Nor is possibility alone sufficient to justify us; we must keep
likewise within the rules of probability. It is, I think, the opinion
of Aristotle; or if not, it is the opinion of some wise man, whose
authority will be as weighty when it is as old, “That it is no excuse
for a poet who relates what is incredible, that the thing related is
really matter of fact.” This may perhaps be allowed true with regard