History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter xi.
1774 words | Chapter 174
The narrow escape of Molly Seagrim, with some observations for which
we have been forced to dive pretty deep into nature.
Tom Jones had ridden one of Mr Western's horses that morning in the
chase; so that having no horse of his own in the squire's stable, he
was obliged to go home on foot: this he did so expeditiously that he
ran upwards of three miles within the half-hour.
Just as he arrived at Mr Allworthy's outward gate, he met the
constable and company with Molly in their possession, whom they were
conducting to that house where the inferior sort of people may learn
one good lesson, viz., respect and deference to their superiors; since
it must show them the wide distinction Fortune intends between those
persons who are to be corrected for their faults, and those who are
not; which lesson if they do not learn, I am afraid they very rarely
learn any other good lesson, or improve their morals, at the house of
correction.
A lawyer may perhaps think Mr Allworthy exceeded his authority a
little in this instance. And, to say the truth, I question, as here
was no regular information before him, whether his conduct was
strictly regular. However, as his intention was truly upright, he
ought to be excused in _foro conscientiae_; since so many arbitrary
acts are daily committed by magistrates who have not this excuse to
plead for themselves.
Tom was no sooner informed by the constable whither they were
proceeding (indeed he pretty well guessed it of himself), than he
caught Molly in his arms, and embracing her tenderly before them all,
swore he would murder the first man who offered to lay hold of her. He
bid her dry her eyes and be comforted; for, wherever she went, he
would accompany her. Then turning to the constable, who stood
trembling with his hat off, he desired him, in a very mild voice, to
return with him for a moment only to his father (for so he now called
Allworthy); for he durst, he said, be assured, that, when he had
alledged what he had to say in her favour, the girl would be
discharged.
The constable, who, I make no doubt, would have surrendered his
prisoner had Tom demanded her, very readily consented to this request.
So back they all went into Mr Allworthy's hall; where Tom desired them
to stay till his return, and then went himself in pursuit of the good
man. As soon as he was found, Tom threw himself at his feet, and
having begged a patient hearing, confessed himself to be the father of
the child of which Molly was then big. He entreated him to have
compassion on the poor girl, and to consider, if there was any guilt
in the case, it lay principally at his door.
“If there is any guilt in the case!” answered Allworthy warmly: “Are
you then so profligate and abandoned a libertine to doubt whether the
breaking the laws of God and man, the corrupting and ruining a poor
girl be guilt? I own, indeed, it doth lie principally upon you; and so
heavy it is, that you ought to expect it should crush you.”
“Whatever may be my fate,” says Tom, “let me succeed in my
intercessions for the poor girl. I confess I have corrupted her! but
whether she shall be ruined, depends on you. For Heaven's sake, sir,
revoke your warrant, and do not send her to a place which must
unavoidably prove her destruction.”
Allworthy bid him immediately call a servant. Tom answered there was
no occasion; for he had luckily met them at the gate, and relying upon
his goodness, had brought them all back into his hall, where they now
waited his final resolution, which upon his knees he besought him
might be in favour of the girl; that she might be permitted to go home
to her parents, and not be exposed to a greater degree of shame and
scorn than must necessarily fall upon her. “I know,” said he, “that is
too much. I know I am the wicked occasion of it. I will endeavour to
make amends, if possible; and if you shall have hereafter the goodness
to forgive me, I hope I shall deserve it.”
Allworthy hesitated some time, and at last said, “Well, I will
discharge my mittimus.--You may send the constable to me.” He was
instantly called, discharged, and so was the girl.
It will be believed that Mr Allworthy failed not to read Tom a very
severe lecture on this occasion; but it is unnecessary to insert it
here, as we have faithfully transcribed what he said to Jenny Jones in
the first book, most of which may be applied to the men, equally with
the women. So sensible an effect had these reproofs on the young man,
who was no hardened sinner, that he retired to his own room, where he
passed the evening alone, in much melancholy contemplation.
Allworthy was sufficiently offended by this transgression of Jones;
for notwithstanding the assertions of Mr Western, it is certain this
worthy man had never indulged himself in any loose pleasures with
women, and greatly condemned the vice of incontinence in others.
Indeed, there is much reason to imagine that there was not the least
truth in what Mr Western affirmed, especially as he laid the scene of
those impurities at the university, where Mr Allworthy had never been.
In fact, the good squire was a little too apt to indulge that kind of
pleasantry which is generally called rhodomontade: but which may, with
as much propriety, be expressed by a much shorter word; and perhaps we
too often supply the use of this little monosyllable by others; since
very much of what frequently passes in the world for wit and humour,
should, in the strictest purity of language, receive that short
appellation, which, in conformity to the well-bred laws of custom, I
here suppress.
But whatever detestation Mr Allworthy had to this or to any other
vice, he was not so blinded by it but that he could discern any virtue
in the guilty person, as clearly indeed as if there had been no
mixture of vice in the same character. While he was angry therefore
with the incontinence of Jones, he was no less pleased with the honour
and honesty of his self-accusation. He began now to form in his mind
the same opinion of this young fellow, which, we hope, our reader may
have conceived. And in balancing his faults with his perfections, the
latter seemed rather to preponderate.
It was to no purpose, therefore, that Thwackum, who was immediately
charged by Mr Blifil with the story, unbended all his rancour against
poor Tom. Allworthy gave a patient hearing to their invectives, and
then answered coldly: “That young men of Tom's complexion were too
generally addicted to this vice; but he believed that youth was
sincerely affected with what he had said to him on the occasion, and
he hoped he would not transgress again.” So that, as the days of
whipping were at an end, the tutor had no other vent but his own mouth
for his gall, the usual poor resource of impotent revenge.
But Square, who was a less violent, was a much more artful man; and as
he hated Jones more perhaps than Thwackum himself did, so he contrived
to do him more mischief in the mind of Mr Allworthy.
The reader must remember the several little incidents of the
partridge, the horse, and the Bible, which were recounted in the
second book. By all which Jones had rather improved than injured the
affection which Mr Allworthy was inclined to entertain for him. The
same, I believe, must have happened to him with every other person who
hath any idea of friendship, generosity, and greatness of spirit, that
is to say, who hath any traces of goodness in his mind.
Square himself was not unacquainted with the true impression which
those several instances of goodness had made on the excellent heart of
Allworthy; for the philosopher very well knew what virtue was, though
he was not always perhaps steady in its pursuit; but as for Thwackum,
from what reason I will not determine, no such thoughts ever entered
into his head: he saw Jones in a bad light, and he imagined Allworthy
saw him in the same, but that he was resolved, from pride and
stubbornness of spirit, not to give up the boy whom he had once
cherished; since by so doing, he must tacitly acknowledge that his
former opinion of him had been wrong.
Square therefore embraced this opportunity of injuring Jones
in the tenderest part, by giving a very bad turn to all these
before-mentioned occurrences. “I am sorry, sir,” said he, “to own I
have been deceived as well as yourself. I could not, I confess, help
being pleased with what I ascribed to the motive of friendship, though
it was carried to an excess, and all excess is faulty and vicious: but
in this I made allowance for youth. Little did I suspect that the
sacrifice of truth, which we both imagined to have been made to
friendship, was in reality a prostitution of it to a depraved and
debauched appetite. You now plainly see whence all the seeming
generosity of this young man to the family of the gamekeeper
proceeded. He supported the father in order to corrupt the daughter,
and preserved the family from starving, to bring one of them to shame
and ruin. This is friendship! this is generosity! As Sir Richard
Steele says, `Gluttons who give high prices for delicacies, are very
worthy to be called generous.' In short I am resolved, from this
instance, never to give way to the weakness of human nature more, nor
to think anything virtue which doth not exactly quadrate with the
unerring rule of right.”
The goodness of Allworthy had prevented those considerations from
occurring to himself; yet were they too plausible to be absolutely and
hastily rejected, when laid before his eyes by another. Indeed what
Square had said sunk very deeply into his mind, and the uneasiness
which it there created was very visible to the other; though the good
man would not acknowledge this, but made a very slight answer, and
forcibly drove off the discourse to some other subject. It was well
perhaps for poor Tom, that no such suggestions had been made before he
was pardoned; for they certainly stamped in the mind of Allworthy the
first bad impression concerning Jones.
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