History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter v.
1672 words | Chapter 227
A dialogue between Mr Jones and the barber.
This conversation passed partly while Jones was at dinner in his
dungeon, and partly while he was expecting the barber in the parlour.
And, as soon as it was ended, Mr Benjamin, as we have said, attended
him, and was very kindly desired to sit down. Jones then filling out a
glass of wine, drank his health by the appellation of _doctissime
tonsorum_. “_Ago tibi gratias, domine_” said the barber; and then
looking very steadfastly at Jones, he said, with great gravity, and
with a seeming surprize, as if he had recollected a face he had seen
before, “Sir, may I crave the favour to know if your name is not
Jones?” To which the other answered, “That it was.”--“_Proh deum atque
hominum fidem_!” says the barber; “how strangely things come to pass!
Mr Jones, I am your most obedient servant. I find you do not know me,
which indeed is no wonder, since you never saw me but once, and then
you was very young. Pray, sir, how doth the good Squire Allworthy? how
doth _ille optimus omnium patronus_?”--“I find,” said Jones, “you do
indeed know me; but I have not the like happiness of recollecting
you.”--“I do not wonder at that,” cries Benjamin; “but I am surprized
I did not know you sooner, for you are not in the least altered. And
pray, sir, may I, without offence, enquire whither you are travelling
this way?”--“Fill the glass, Mr Barber,” said Jones, “and ask no more
questions.”--“Nay, sir,” answered Benjamin, “I would not be
troublesome; and I hope you don't think me a man of an impertinent
curiosity, for that is a vice which nobody can lay to my charge; but I
ask pardon; for when a gentleman of your figure travels without his
servants, we may suppose him to be, as we say, _in casu incognito_,
and perhaps I ought not to have mentioned your name.”--“I own,” says
Jones, “I did not expect to have been so well known in this country as
I find I am; yet, for particular reasons, I shall be obliged to you if
you will not mention my name to any other person till I am gone from
hence.”--“_Pauca verba_,” answered the barber;” and I wish no other
here knew you but myself; for some people have tongues; but I promise
you I can keep a secret. My enemies will allow me that virtue.”--“And
yet that is not the characteristic of your profession, Mr Barber,”
answered Jones. “Alas! sir,” replied Benjamin, “_Non si male nunc et
olim sic erit_. I was not born nor bred a barber, I assure you. I have
spent most of my time among gentlemen, and though I say it, I
understand something of gentility. And if you had thought me as worthy
of your confidence as you have some other people, I should have shown
you I could have kept a secret better. I should not have degraded your
name in a public kitchen; for indeed, sir, some people have not used
you well; for besides making a public proclamation of what you told
them of a quarrel between yourself and Squire Allworthy, they added
lies of their own, things which I knew to be lies.”--“You surprize me
greatly,” cries Jones. “Upon my word, sir,” answered Benjamin, “I tell
the truth, and I need not tell you my landlady was the person. I am
sure it moved me to hear the story, and I hope it is all false; for I
have a great respect for you, I do assure you I have, and have had
ever since the good-nature you showed to Black George, which was
talked of all over the country, and I received more than one letter
about it. Indeed, it made you beloved by everybody. You will pardon
me, therefore; for it was real concern at what I heard made me ask
many questions; for I have no impertinent curiosity about me: but I
love good-nature and thence became _amoris abundantia erga te_.”
Every profession of friendship easily gains credit with the miserable;
it is no wonder therefore, if Jones, who, besides his being miserable,
was extremely open-hearted, very readily believed all the professions
of Benjamin, and received him into his bosom. The scraps of Latin,
some of which Benjamin applied properly enough, though it did not
savour of profound literature, seemed yet to indicate something
superior to a common barber; and so indeed did his whole behaviour.
Jones therefore believed the truth of what he had said, as to his
original and education; and at length, after much entreaty, he said,
“Since you have heard, my friend, so much of my affairs, and seem so
desirous to know the truth, if you will have patience to hear it, I
will inform you of the whole.”--“Patience!” cries Benjamin, “that I
will, if the chapter was never so long; and I am very much obliged to
you for the honour you do me.”
Jones now began, and related the whole history, forgetting only a
circumstance or two, namely, everything which passed on that day in
which he had fought with Thwackum; and ended with his resolution to go
to sea, till the rebellion in the North had made him change his
purpose, and had brought him to the place where he then was.
Little Benjamin, who had been all attention, never once interrupted
the narrative; but when it was ended he could not help observing, that
there must be surely something more invented by his enemies, and told
Mr Allworthy against him, or so good a man would never have dismissed
one he had loved so tenderly, in such a manner. To which Jones
answered, “He doubted not but such villanous arts had been made use of
to destroy him.”
And surely it was scarce possible for any one to have avoided making
the same remark with the barber, who had not indeed heard from Jones
one single circumstance upon which he was condemned; for his actions
were not now placed in those injurious lights in which they had been
misrepresented to Allworthy; nor could he mention those many false
accusations which had been from time to time preferred against him to
Allworthy: for with none of these he was himself acquainted. He had
likewise, as we have observed, omitted many material facts in his
present relation. Upon the whole, indeed, everything now appeared in
such favourable colours to Jones, that malice itself would have found
it no easy matter to fix any blame upon him.
Not that Jones desired to conceal or to disguise the truth; nay, he
would have been more unwilling to have suffered any censure to fall on
Mr Allworthy for punishing him, than on his own actions for deserving
it; but, in reality, so it happened, and so it always will happen; for
let a man be never so honest, the account of his own conduct will, in
spite of himself, be so very favourable, that his vices will come
purified through his lips, and, like foul liquors well strained, will
leave all their foulness behind. For though the facts themselves may
appear, yet so different will be the motives, circumstances, and
consequences, when a man tells his own story, and when his enemy tells
it, that we scarce can recognise the facts to be one and the same.
Though the barber had drank down this story with greedy ears, he was
not yet satisfied. There was a circumstance behind which his
curiosity, cold as it was, most eagerly longed for. Jones had
mentioned the fact of his amour, and of his being the rival of Blifil,
but had cautiously concealed the name of the young lady. The barber,
therefore, after some hesitation, and many hums and hahs, at last
begged leave to crave the name of the lady, who appeared to be the
principal cause of all this mischief. Jones paused a moment, and then
said, “Since I have trusted you with so much, and since, I am afraid,
her name is become too publick already on this occasion, I will not
conceal it from you. Her name is Sophia Western.”
“_Proh deum atque hominum fidem_! Squire Western hath a daughter grown
a woman!”--“Ay, and such a woman,” cries Jones, “that the world cannot
match. No eye ever saw anything so beautiful; but that is her least
excellence. Such sense! such goodness! Oh, I could praise her for
ever, and yet should omit half her virtues!”--“Mr Western a daughter
grown up!” cries the barber: “I remember the father a boy; well,
_Tempus edax rerum_.”
The wine being now at an end, the barber pressed very eagerly to be
his bottle; but Jones absolutely refused, saying, “He had already
drank more than he ought: and that he now chose to retire to his room,
where he wished he could procure himself a book.”--“A book!” cries
Benjamin; “what book would you have? Latin or English? I have some
curious books in both languages; such as _Erasmi Colloquia, Ovid de
Tristibus, Gradus ad Parnassum;_ and in English I have several of the
best books, though some of them are a little torn; but I have a great
part of Stowe's Chronicle; the sixth volume of Pope's Homer; the third
volume of the Spectator; the second volume of Echard's Roman History;
the Craftsman; Robinson Crusoe; Thomas a Kempis; and two volumes of
Tom Brown's Works.”
“Those last,” cries Jones, “are books I never saw, so if you please
lend me one of those volumes.” The barber assured him he would be
highly entertained, for he looked upon the author to have been one of
the greatest wits that ever the nation produced. He then stepped to
his house, which was hard by, and immediately returned; after which,
the barber having received very strict injunctions of secrecy from
Jones, and having sworn inviolably to maintain it, they separated; the
barber went home, and Jones retired to his chamber.
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