History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
you; but, as my first husband used to say, they should remember it is
we that pay them. And to be sure it is very hard upon us to be obliged
to pay them, and to keep 'um too, as we publicans are. I had twenty of
'um last night, besides officers: nay, for matter o' that, I had
rather have the soldiers than officers: for nothing is ever good
enough for those sparks; and I am sure, if you was to see the bills;
la! sir, it is nothing. I have had less trouble, I warrant you, with a
good squire's family, where we take forty or fifty shillings of a
night, besides horses. And yet I warrants me, there is narrow a one of
those officer fellows but looks upon himself to be as good as arrow a
squire of £500 a year. To be sure it doth me good to hear their men
run about after 'um, crying your honour, and your honour. Marry come
up with such honour, and an ordinary at a shilling a head. Then
there's such swearing among 'um, to be sure it frightens me out o' my
wits: I thinks nothing can ever prosper with such wicked people. And
here one of 'um has used you in so barbarous a manner. I thought
indeed how well the rest would secure him; they all hang together; for
if you had been in danger of death, which I am glad to see you are
not, it would have been all as one to such wicked people. They would
have let the murderer go. Laud have mercy upon 'um; I would not have
such a sin to answer for, for the whole world. But though you are
likely, with the blessing, to recover, there is laa for him yet; and
if you will employ lawyer Small, I darest be sworn he'll make the
fellow fly the country for him; though perhaps he'll have fled the
country before; for it is here to-day and gone to-morrow with such
chaps. I hope, however, you will learn more wit for the future, and
return back to your friends; I warrant they are all miserable for your
loss; and if they was but to know what had happened--La, my seeming! I
would not for the world they should. Come, come, we know very well
what all the matter is; but if one won't, another will; so pretty a
gentleman need never want a lady. I am sure, if I was you, I would see
the finest she that ever wore a head hanged, before I would go for a
soldier for her.--Nay, don't blush so” (for indeed he did to a violent
degree). “Why, you thought, sir, I knew nothing of the matter, I
warrant you, about Madam Sophia.”--“How,” says Jones, starting up, “do
you know my Sophia?”--“Do I! ay marry,” cries the landlady; “many's
the time hath she lain in this house.”--“With her aunt, I suppose,”
says Jones. “Why, there it is now,” cries the landlady. “Ay, ay, ay, I
know the old lady very well. And a sweet young creature is Madam
Sophia, that's the truth on't.”--“A sweet creature,” cries Jones; “O
heavens!”
Angels are painted fair to look like her.
There's in her all that we believe of heav'n,
Amazing brightness, purity, and truth,
Eternal joy and everlasting love.
“And could I ever have imagined that you had known my Sophia!”--“I
wish,” says the landlady, “you knew half so much of her. What would
you have given to have sat by her bed-side? What a delicious neck she
hath! Her lovely limbs have stretched themselves in that very bed you
now lie in.”--“Here!” cries Jones: “hath Sophia ever laid here?”--“Ay,
ay, here; there, in that very bed,” says the landlady; “where I wish
you had her this moment; and she may wish so too for anything I know
to the contrary, for she hath mentioned your name to me.”--“Ha!” cries
he; “did she ever mention her poor Jones? You flatter me now: I can
never believe so much.”--“Why, then,” answered she, “as I hope to be
saved, and may the devil fetch me if I speak a syllable more than the
truth, I have heard her mention Mr Jones; but in a civil and modest
way, I confess; yet I could perceive she thought a great deal more
than she said.”--“O my dear woman!” cries Jones, “her thoughts of me I
shall never be worthy of. Oh, she is all gentleness, kindness,
goodness! Why was such a rascal as I born, ever to give her soft bosom
a moment's uneasiness? Why am I cursed? I, who would undergo all the
plagues and miseries which any daemon ever invented for mankind, to
procure her any good; nay, torture itself could not be misery to me,
did I but know that she was happy.”--“Why, look you there now,” says
the landlady; “I told her you was a constant lovier.”--“But pray,
madam, tell me when or where you knew anything of me; for I never was
here before, nor do I remember ever to have seen you.”--“Nor is it
possible you should,” answered she; “for you was a little thing when I
had you in my lap at the squire's.”--“How, the squire's?” says Jones:
“what, do you know that great and good Mr Allworthy then?”--“Yes,
marry, do I,” says she: “who in the country doth not?”--“The fame of
his goodness indeed,” answered Jones, “must have extended farther than
this; but heaven only can know him--can know that benevolence which it
copied from itself, and sent upon earth as its own pattern. Mankind
are as ignorant of such divine goodness, as they are unworthy of it;
but none so unworthy of it as myself. I, who was raised by him to such
a height; taken in, as you must well know, a poor base-born child,
adopted by him, and treated as his own son, to dare by my follies to
disoblige him, to draw his vengeance upon me. Yes, I deserve it all;
for I will never be so ungrateful as ever to think he hath done an act
of injustice by me. No, I deserve to be turned out of doors, as I am.
And now, madam,” says he, “I believe you will not blame me for turning
soldier, especially with such a fortune as this in my pocket.” At
which words he shook a purse, which had but very little in it, and
which still appeared to the landlady to have less.
My good landlady was (according to vulgar phrase) struck all of a heap
by this relation. She answered coldly, “That to be sure people were
the best judges what was most proper for their circumstances. But
hark,” says she, “I think I hear somebody call. Coming! coming! the
devil's in all our volk; nobody hath any ears. I must go down-stairs;
if you want any more breakfast the maid will come up. Coming!” At
which words, without taking any leave, she flung out of the room; for
the lower sort of people are very tenacious of respect; and though
they are contented to give this gratis to persons of quality, yet they
never confer it on those of their own order without taking care to be
well paid for their pains.
Chapter iii.
In which the surgeon makes his second appearance.
Before we proceed any farther, that the reader may not be mistaken in
imagining the landlady knew more than she did, nor surprized that she
knew so much, it may be necessary to inform him that the lieutenant
had acquainted her that the name of Sophia had been the occasion of
the quarrel; and as for the rest of her knowledge, the sagacious
reader will observe how she came by it in the preceding scene. Great
curiosity was indeed mixed with her virtues; and she never willingly
suffered any one to depart from her house, without enquiring as much
as possible into their names, families, and fortunes.
She was no sooner gone than Jones, instead of animadverting on her
behaviour, reflected that he was in the same bed which he was informed
had held his dear Sophia. This occasioned a thousand fond and tender
thoughts, which we would dwell longer upon, did we not consider that
such kind of lovers will make a very inconsiderable part of our
readers. In this situation the surgeon found him, when he came to
dress his wound. The doctor perceiving, upon examination, that his
pulse was disordered, and hearing that he had not slept, declared that
he was in great danger; for he apprehended a fever was coming on,
which he would have prevented by bleeding, but Jones would not submit,
declaring he would lose no more blood; “and, doctor,” says he, “if you
will be so kind only to dress my head, I have no doubt of being well
in a day or two.”
“I wish,” answered the surgeon, “I could assure your being well in a
month or two. Well, indeed! No, no, people are not so soon well of
such contusions; but, sir, I am not at this time of day to be
instructed in my operations by a patient, and I insist on making a
revulsion before I dress you.”
Jones persisted obstinately in his refusal, and the doctor at last
yielded; telling him at the same time that he would not be answerable
for the ill consequence, and hoped he would do him the justice to
acknowledge that he had given him a contrary advice; which the patient
promised he would.
The doctor retired into the kitchen, where, addressing himself to the
landlady, he complained bitterly of the undutiful behaviour of his
patient, who would not be blooded, though he was in a fever.
“It is an eating fever then,” says the landlady; “for he hath devoured
two swinging buttered toasts this morning for breakfast.”
“Very likely,” says the doctor: “I have known people eat in a fever;
and it is very easily accounted for; because the acidity occasioned by
the febrile matter may stimulate the nerves of the diaphragm, and
thereby occasion a craving which will not be easily distinguishable
from a natural appetite; but the aliment will not be concreted, nor
assimilated into chyle, and so will corrode the vascular orifices, and
thus will aggravate the febrific symptoms. Indeed, I think the
gentleman in a very dangerous way, and, if he is not blooded, I am
afraid will die.”
“Every man must die some time or other,” answered the good woman; “it
is no business of mine. I hope, doctor, you would not have me hold him
while you bleed him. But, hark'ee, a word in your ear; I would advise
you, before you proceed too far, to take care who is to be your
paymaster.”
“Paymaster!” said the doctor, staring; “why, I've a gentleman under my
hands, have I not?”
“I imagined so as well as you,” said the landlady; “but, as my first
husband used to say, everything is not what it looks to be. He is an
arrant scrub, I assure you. However, take no notice that I mentioned
anything to you of the matter; but I think people in business oft
always to let one another know such things.”
“And have I suffered such a fellow as this,” cries the doctor, in a
passion, “to instruct me? Shall I hear my practice insulted by one who
will not pay me? I am glad I have made this discovery in time. I will
see now whether he will be blooded or no.” He then immediately went
upstairs, and flinging open the door of the chamber with much
violence, awaked poor Jones from a very sound nap, into which he was
fallen, and, what was still worse, from a delicious dream concerning
Sophia.
“Will you be blooded or no?” cries the doctor, in a rage. “I have told
you my resolution already,” answered Jones, “and I wish with all my
heart you had taken my answer; for you have awaked me out of the
sweetest sleep which I ever had in my life.”
“Ay, ay,” cries the doctor; “many a man hath dozed away his life.
Sleep is not always good, no more than food; but remember, I demand of
you for the last time, will you be blooded?”--“I answer you for the
last time,” said Jones, “I will not.”--“Then I wash my hands of you,”
cries the doctor; “and I desire you to pay me for the trouble I have
had already. Two journeys at 5s. each, two dressings at 5s. more, and
half a crown for phlebotomy.”--“I hope,” said Jones, “you don't intend
to leave me in this condition.”--“Indeed but I shall,” said the other.
“Then,” said Jones, “you have used me rascally, and I will not pay you
a farthing.”--“Very well,” cries the doctor; “the first loss is the
best. What a pox did my landlady mean by sending for me to such
vagabonds!” At which words he flung out of the room, and his patient
turning himself about soon recovered his sleep; but his dream was
unfortunately gone.