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
1. 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.
2. 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 newborn 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 children's teeth are set on edge, etc.
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 if 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.
3. 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 neighboring 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 resolv'd-----
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.
4. 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 preeminence. 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.
5. 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.
6. 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 confirmation of the schoolmaster's guilt, that Mr. Allworthy
determined to send for the criminal, and examine him vivâ 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. Is
it 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, 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.
7. CHAPTER VII.
A short sketch of that felicity which prudent couples may extract
from hatred: with a short apology for those people who overlook
imperfections in their friends
Though the captain had effectually demolished poor Partridge, yet
had he not reaped the harvest he hoped for, which was to turn the
foundling out of Mr. Allworthy's house.
On the contrary, that gentleman grew every day fonder of little
Tommy, as if he intended to counterbalance his severity to the
father with extraordinary fondness and affection towards the son.
This a good deal soured the captain's temper, as did all the other
daily instances of Mr. Allworthy's generosity; for he looked on all
such largesses to be diminutions of his own wealth.
In this, we have said, he did not agree with his wife; nor,
indeed, in anything else: for though an affection placed on the
understanding is, by many wise persons, thought more durable than that
which is founded on beauty, yet it happened otherwise in the present
case. Nay, the understandings of this couple were their principal bone
of contention, and one great cause of many quarrels, which from time
to time arose between them; and which at last ended, on the side of
the lady, in a sovereign contempt for her husband; and on the
husband's, in an utter abhorrence of his wife.
As these had both exercised their talents chiefly in the study of
divinity, this was, from their first acquaintance, the most common
topic of conversation between them. The captain, like a well-bred man,
had, before marriage, always given up his opinion to that of the lady;
and this, not in the clumsy awkward manner of a conceited blockhead,
who, while he civilly yields to a superior in an argument, is desirous
of being still known to think himself in the right. The captain, on
the contrary, though one of the proudest fellows in the world, so
absolutely yielded the victory to his antagonist, that she, who had
not the least doubt of his sincerity, retired always from the
dispute with an admiration of her own understanding and a love for
his.
But though this complacence to one whom the captain thoroughly
despised, was not so uneasy to him as it would have been had any hopes
of preferment made it necessary to show the same submission to a
Hoadley, or to some other of great reputation in the science, yet even
this cost him too much to be endured without some motive. Matrimony,
therefore, having removed all such motives, he grew weary of this
condescension, and began to treat the opinions of his wife with that
haughtiness and insolence, which none but those who deserve some
contempt themselves can bestow, and those only who deserve no contempt
can bear.
When the first torrent of tenderness was over, and when, in the calm
and long interval between the fits, reason began to open the eyes of
the lady, and she saw this alteration of behaviour in the captain, who
at length answered all her arguments only with pish and pshaw, she was
far from enduring the indignity with a tame submission. Indeed, it
at first so highly provoked her, that it might have produced some
tragical event, had it not taken a more harmless turn, by filling
her with the utmost contempt for her husband's understanding, which
somewhat qualified her hatred towards him; though of this likewise she
had a pretty moderate share.
The captain's hatred to her was of a purer kind: for as to any
imperfections in her knowledge or understanding, he no more despised
her for them, than for her not being six feet high. In his opinion
of the female sex, he exceeded the moroseness of Aristotle himself: he
looked on a woman as on an animal of domestic use, of somewhat
higher consideration than a cat, since her offices were of rather more
importance; but the difference between these two was, in his
estimation, so small, that, in his marriage contracted with Mr.
Allworthy's lands and tenements, it would have been pretty equal which
of them he had taken into the bargain. And yet so tender was his
pride, that it felt the contempt which his wife now began to express
towards him; and this, added to the surfeit he had before taken of her
love, created in him a degree of disgust and abhorrence, perhaps
hardly to be exceeded.
One situation only of the married state is excluded from pleasure:
and that is, a state of indifference: but as many of my readers, I
hope, know what an exquisite delight there is in conveying pleasure to
a beloved object, so some few, I am afraid, may have experienced the
satisfaction of tormenting one we hate. It is, I apprehend, to come at
this latter pleasure, that we see both sexes often give up that ease
in marriage which they might otherwise possess, though their mate
was never so disagreeable to them. Hence the wife often puts on fits
of love and jealousy, nay, even denies herself any pleasure, to
disturb and prevent those of her husband; and he again, in return,
puts frequent restraints on himself, and stays at home in company
which he dislikes, in order to confine his wife to what she equally
detests. Hence, too, must flow those tears which a widow sometimes
so plentifully sheds over the ashes of a husband with whom she led a
life of constant disquiet and turbulency, and whom now she can never
hope to torment any more.
But if ever any couple enjoyed this pleasure, it was at present
experienced by the captain and his lady. It was always a sufficient
reason to either of them to be obstinate in any opinion, that the
other had previously asserted the contrary. If the one proposed any
amusement, the other constantly objected to it: they never loved or
hated, commended or abused, the same person. And for this reason, as
the captain looked with an evil eye on the little foundling, his
wife began now to caress it almost equally with her own child.
The reader will be apt to conceive, that this behaviour between
the husband and wife did not greatly contribute to Mr. Allworthy's
repose, as it tended so little to that serene happiness which he had
designed for all three from this alliance; but the truth is, though he
might be a little disappointed in his sanguine expectations, yet he
was far from being acquainted with the whole matter; for, as the
captain was, from certain obvious reasons, much on his guard before
him, the lady was obliged, for fear of her brother's displeasure, to
pursue the same conduct. In fact, it is possible for a third person to
be very intimate, nay even to live long in the same house, with a
married couple, who have any tolerable discretion, and not even
guess at the sour sentiments which they bear to each other: for though
the whole day may be sometimes too short for hatred, as well as for
love; yet the many hours which they naturally spend together, apart
from all observers, furnish people of tolerable moderation with such
ample opportunity for the enjoyment of either passion, that, if they
love, they can support being a few hours in company without toying, or
if they hate, without spitting in each other's faces.
It is possible, however, that Mr. Allworthy saw enough to render him
a little uneasy; for we are not always to conclude, that a wise man is
not hurt, because he doth not cry out and lament himself, like those
of a childish or effeminate temper. But indeed it is possible he might
see some faults in the captain without any uneasiness at all; for
men of true wisdom and goodness are contented to take persons and
things as they are, without complaining of their imperfections, or
attempting to amend them. They can see a fault in a friend, a
relation, or an acquaintance, without ever mentioning it to the
parties themselves, or to any others; and this often without lessening
their affection. Indeed, unless great discernment be tempered with
this overlooking disposition, we ought never to contract friendship
but with a degree of folly which we can deceive; for I hope my friends
will pardon me when I declare, I know none of them without a fault;
and I should be sorry if I could imagine I had any friend who could
not see mine. Forgiveness of this kind we give and demand in turn.
It is an exercise of friendship, and perhaps none of the least
pleasant. And this forgiveness we must bestow, without desire of
amendment. There is, perhaps, no surer mark of folly, than an
attempt to correct the natural infirmities of those we love. The
finest composition of human nature, as well as the finest china, may
have a flaw in it; and this, I am afraid, in either case, is equally
incurable; though, nevertheless, the pattern may remain of the highest
value.
Upon the whole, then, Mr. Allworthy certainly saw some imperfections
in the captain; but as this was a very artful man, and eternally
upon his guard before him, these appeared to him no more than
blemishes in a good character, which his goodness made him overlook,
and his wisdom prevented him from discovering to the captain
himself. Very different would have been his sentiments had he
discovered the whole; which perhaps would in time have been the
case, had the husband and wife long continued this kind of behaviour
to each other; but this kind Fortune took effectual means to
prevent, by forcing the captain to do that which rendered him again
dear to his wife, and restored all her tenderness and affection
towards him.
8. CHAPTER VIII.
A receipt to regain the lost affections of a wife, which hath
never been known to fail in the most desperate cases
The captain was made large amends for the unpleasant minutes which
he passed in the conversation of his wife (and which were as few as he
could contrive to make them), by the pleasant meditations he enjoyed
when alone.
These meditations were entirely employed on Mr. Allworthy's fortune;
for, first, he exercised much thought in calculating, as well as he
could, the exact value of the whole: which calculations he often saw
occasion to alter in his own favour: and, secondly and chiefly, he
pleased himself with intended alterations in the house and gardens,
and in projecting many other schemes, as well for the improvement of
the estate as of the grandeur of the place: for this purpose he
applied himself to the studies of architecture and gardening, and read
over many books on both these subjects; for these sciences, indeed,
employed his whole time, and formed his only amusement. He at last
completed a most excellent plan: and very sorry we are, that it is not
in our power to present it to our reader, since even the luxury of the
present age, I believe, would hardly match it. It had, indeed, in a
superlative degree, the two principal ingredients which serve to
recommend all great and noble designs of this nature; for it
required an immoderate expense to execute, and a vast length of time
to bring it to any sort of perfection. The former of these, the
immense wealth of which the captain supposed Mr. Allworthy
possessed, and which he thought himself sure of inheriting, promised
very effectually to supply; and the latter, the soundness of his own
constitution, and his time of life, which was only what is called
middle-age, removed all apprehension of his not living to accomplish.
Nothing was wanting to enable him to enter upon the immediate
execution of this plan, but the death of Mr. Allworthy; in calculating
which he had employed much of his own algebra, besides purchasing
every book extant that treats of the value of lives, reversions, etc.
From all which he satisfied himself, that as he had every day a chance
of this happening, so had he more than an even chance of its happening
within a few years.
But while the captain was one day busied in deep contemplations of
this kind, one of the most unlucky as well as unseasonable accidents
happened to him. The utmost malice of Fortune could, indeed, have
contrived nothing so cruel, so mal-a-propos, so absolutely destructive
to all his schemes. In short, not to keep the reader in long suspense,
just at the very instant when his heart was exulting in meditations on
the happiness which would accrue to him by Mr. Allworthy's death, he
himself- died of an apoplexy.
This unfortunately befel the captain as he was taking his evening
walk by himself, so that nobody was present to lend him any
assistance, if indeed, any assistance could have preserved him. He
took, therefore, measure of that proportion of soil which was now
become adequate to all his future purposes, and he lay dead on the
ground, a great (though not a living) example of the truth of that
observation of Horace:
Tu secanda marmora
Locas sub ipsum funus; et sepulchri
Immemor, struis domos.
Which sentiment I shall thus give to the English reader: "You
provide the noblest materials for building, when a pickaxe and a spade
are only necessary: and build houses of five hundred by a hundred
feet, forgetting that of six by two."
9. CHAPTER IX.
A proof of the infallibility of the foregoing receipt, in the
lamentations of the widow; with other suitable decorations of death,
such as physicians, &c., and an epitaph in the true style
Mr. Allworthy, his sister, and another lady, were assembled at the
accustomed hour in the supper-room, where, having waited a
considerable time longer than usual, Mr. Allworthy first declared he
began to grow uneasy at the captain's stay (for he was always most
punctual at his meals); and gave orders that the bell should be rung
without the doors, and especially towards those walks which the
captain was wont to use.
All these summons proving ineffectual (for the captain had, by
perverse accident, betaken himself to a new walk that evening), Mrs.
Blifil declared she was seriously frightened. Upon which the other
lady, who was one of her most intimate acquaintance, and who well knew
the true state of her affections, endeavoured all she could to
pacify her, telling her- To be sure she could not help being uneasy;
but that she should hope the best. That, perhaps the sweetness of
the evening had inticed the captain to go farther than his usual walk:
or he might be detained at some neighbour's. Mrs. Blifil answered, No;
she was sure some accident had befallen him; for that he would never
stay out without sending her word, as he must know how uneasy it would
make her. The other lady, having no other arguments to use, betook
herself to the entreaties usual on such occasions, and begged her
not to frighten herself, for it might be of very ill consequence to
her own health; and, filling out a very large glass of wine,
advised, and at last prevailed with her to drink it.
Mr. Allworthy now returned into the parlour; for he had been himself
in search after the captain. His countenance sufficiently showed the
consternation he was under, which, indeed, had a good deal deprived
him of speech; but as grief operates variously on different minds,
so the same apprehension which depressed his voice, elevated that of
Mrs. Blifil. She now began to bewail herself in very bitter terms, and
floods of tears accompanied her lamentations; which the lady, her
companion, declared she could not blame, but at the same time
dissuaded her from indulging; attempting to moderate the grief of
her friend by philosophical observations on the many disappointments
to which human life is daily subject, which, she said, was a
sufficient consideration to fortify our minds against any accidents,
how sudden or terrible soever. She said her brother's example ought to
teach her patience, who, though indeed he could not be supposed as
much concerned as herself, yet was, doubtless, very uneasy, though his
resignation to the Divine will had restrained his grief within due
bounds.
"Mention not my brother," said Mrs. Blifil; "I alone am the object
of your pity. What are the terrors of friendship to what a wife
feels on these occasions? Oh, he is lost! Somebody hath murdered him-
I shall never see him more!"- Here a torrent of tears had the same
consequence with what the suppression had occasioned to Mr. Allworthy,
and she remained silent.
At this interval a servant came running in, out of breath, and cried
out, The captain was found; and, before he could proceed farther, he
was followed by two more, bearing the dead body between them.
Here the curious reader may observe another diversity in the
operations of grief: for as Mr. Allworthy had been before silent, from
the same cause which had made his sister vociferous; so did the
present sight, which drew tears from the gentleman, put an entire stop
to those of the lady; who first gave a violent scream, and presently
after fell into a fit.
The room was soon full of servants, some of whom, with the lady
visitant, were employed in care of the wife; and others, with Mr.
Allworthy, assisted in carrying off the captain to a warm bed; where
every method was tried, in order to restore him to life.
And glad should we be, could we inform the reader that both these
bodies had been attended with equal success; for those who undertook
the care of the lady succeeded so well, that, after the fit had
continued a decent time, she again revived, to their great
satisfaction: but as to the captain, all experiments of bleeding,
chafing, dropping, etc., proved ineffectual. Death, that inexorable
judge, had passed sentence on him, and refused to grant him a
reprieve, though two doctors who arrived, and were fee'd at one and
the same instant, were his counsel.
These two doctors, whom, to avoid any malicious applications, we
shall distinguish by the names of Dr. Y. and Dr. Z., having felt his
pulse; to wit, Dr. Y. his right arm, and Dr. Z. his left; both
agreed that he was absolutely dead; but as to the distemper, or
cause of his death, they differed; Dr. Y. holding that he died of an
apoplexy, and Dr. Z. of an epilepsy.
Hence arose a dispute between the learned men, in which each
delivered the reasons of their several opinions. These were of such
equal force, that they served both to confirm either doctor in his own
sentiments, and made not the least impression on his adversary.
To say the truth, every physician almost hath his favourite disease,
to which he ascribes all the victories obtained over human nature. The
gout, the rheumatism, the stone, the gravel, and the consumption, have
all their several patrons in the faculty; and none more than the
nervous fever, or the fever on the spirits. And here we may account
for those disagreements in opinion, concerning the cause of a
patient's death, which sometimes occur, between the most learned of
the college; and which have greatly surprized that part of the world
who have been ignorant of the fact we have above asserted.
The reader may perhaps be surprized, that, instead of endeavouring
to revive the patient, the learned gentlemen should fall immediately
into a dispute on the occasion of his death; but in reality all such
experiments had been made before their arrival: for the captain was
put into a warm bed, had his veins scarified, his forehead chafed, and
all sorts of strong drops applied to his lips and nostrils.
The physicians, therefore, finding themselves anticipated in
everything they ordered, were at a loss how to apply that portion of
time which it is usual and decent to remain for their fee, and were
therefore necessitated to find some subject or other for discourse;
and what could more naturally present itself than that before
mentioned?
Our doctors were about to take their leave, when Mr. Allworthy,
having given over the captain, and acquiesced in the Divine will,
began to enquire after his sister, whom he desired them to visit
before their departure.
This lady was now recovered of her fit, and, to use the common
phrase, as well as could be expected for one in her condition. The
doctors, therefore, all previous ceremonies being complied with, as
this was a new patient, attended, according to desire, and laid hold
on each of her hands, as they had before done on those of the corpse.
The case of the lady was in the other extreme from that of her
husband: for as he was past all the assistance of physic, so in
reality she required none.
There is nothing more unjust than the vulgar opinion, by which
physicians are misrepresented, as friends to death. On the contrary, I
believe, if the number of those who recover by physic could be opposed
to that of the martyrs to it, the former would rather exceed the
latter. Nay, some are so cautious on this head, that, to avoid a
possibility of killing the patient, they abstain from all methods of
curing, and prescribe nothing but what can neither do good nor harm. I
have heard some of these, with great gravity, deliver it as a maxim,
"That Nature should be left to do her own work, while the physician
stands by as it were to clap her on the back, and encourage her when
she doth well."
So little then did our doctors delight in death, that they
discharged the corpse after a single fee; but they were not so
disgusted with their living patient; concerning whose case they
immediately agreed, and fell to prescribing with great diligence.
Whether, as the lady had at first persuaded her physicians to
believe her ill, they had now, in return, persuaded her to believe
herself so, I will not determine; but she continued a whole month with
all the decorations of sickness. During this time she was visited by
physicians, attended by nurses, and received constant messages from
her acquaintance to enquire after her health.
At length the decent time for sickness and immoderate grief being
expired, the doctors were discharged, and the lady began to see
company; being altered only from what she was before, by that colour
of sadness in which she had dressed her person and countenance.
The captain was now interred, and might, perhaps, have already
made a large progress towards oblivion, had not the friendship of
Mr. Allworthy taken care to preserve his memory, by the following
epitaph, which was written by a man of as great genius as integrity,
and one who perfectly well knew the captain.
HERE LIES,
IN EXPECTATION OF A JOYFUL RISING,
THE BODY OF
CAPTAIN JOHN BLIFIL.
LONDON
HAD THE HONOUR OF HIS BIRTH,
OXFORD
OF HIS EDUCATION.
HIS PARTS
WERE AN HONOUR TO HIS PROFESSION
AND TO HIS COUNTRY
HIS LIFE, TO HIS RELIGION
AND HUMAN NATURE.
HE WAS A DUTIFUL SON,
A TENDER HUSBAND,
AN AFFECTIONATE FATHER,
A MOST KIND BROTHER,
A SINCERE FRIEND,
A DEVOUT CHRISTIAN,
AND A GOOD MAN.
HIS INCONSOLABLE WIDOW
HATH ERECTED THIS STONE,
THE MONUMENT OF
HIS VIRTUES
AND OF HER AFFECTION.