History of Tom Jones, a Foundling by Henry Fielding
Chapter vi.
1535 words | Chapter 228
In which more of the talents of Mr Benjamin will appear, as well as
who this extraordinary person was.
In the morning Jones grew a little uneasy at the desertion of his
surgeon, as he apprehended some inconvenience, or even danger, might
attend the not dressing his wound; he enquired of the drawer, what
other surgeons were to be met with in that neighbourhood. The drawer
told him, there was one not far off; but he had known him often refuse
to be concerned after another had been sent before him; “but, sir,”
says he, “if you will take my advice, there is not a man in the
kingdom can do your business better than the barber who was with you
last night. We look upon him to be one of the ablest men at a cut in
all this neighbourhood. For though he hath not been her above three
months, he hath done several great cures.”
The drawer was presently dispatched for Little Benjamin, who being
acquainted in what capacity he was wanted, prepared himself
accordingly, and attended; but with so different an air and aspect
from that which he wore when his basin was under his arm, that he
could scarce be known to be the same person.
“So, tonsor,” says Jones, “I find you have more trades than one; how
came you not to inform me of this last night?”--“A surgeon,” answered
Benjamin, with great gravity, “is a profession, not a trade. The
reason why I did not acquaint you last night that I professed this
art, was, that I then concluded you was under the hands of another
gentleman, and I never love to interfere with my brethren in their
business. _Ars omnibus communis_. But now, sir, if you please, I will
inspect your head, and when I see into your skull, I will give my
opinion of your case.”
Jones had no great faith in this new professor; however, he suffered
him to open the bandage and to look at his wound; which as soon as he
had done, Benjamin began to groan and shake his head violently. Upon
which Jones, in a peevish manner, bid him not play the fool, but tell
him in what condition he found him. “Shall I answer you as a surgeon,
or a friend?” said Benjamin. “As a friend, and seriously,” said Jones.
“Why then, upon my soul,” cries Benjamin, “it would require a great
deal of art to keep you from being well after a very few dressings;
and if you will suffer me to apply some salve of mine, I will answer
for the success.” Jones gave his consent, and the plaister was applied
accordingly.
“There, sir,” cries Benjamin: “now I will, if you please, resume my
former self; but a man is obliged to keep up some dignity in his
countenance whilst he is performing these operations, or the world
will not submit to be handled by him. You can't imagine, sir, of how
much consequence a grave aspect is to a grave character. A barber may
make you laugh, but a surgeon ought rather to make you cry.”
“Mr Barber, or Mr Surgeon, or Mr Barber-surgeon,” said Jones. “O dear
sir!” answered Benjamin, interrupting him, “_Infandum, regina, jubes
renovare dolorem_. You recall to my mind that cruel separation of the
united fraternities, so much to the prejudice of both bodies, as all
separations must be, according to the old adage, _Vis unita fortior_;
which to be sure there are not wanting some of one or of the other
fraternity who are able to construe. What a blow was this to me, who
unite both in my own person!” “Well, by whatever name you please to be
called,” continued Jones, “you certainly are one of the oddest, most
comical fellows I ever met with, and must have something very
surprizing in your story, which you must confess I have a right to
hear.”--“I do confess it,” answered Benjamin, “and will very readily
acquaint you with it, when you have sufficient leisure, for I promise
you it will require a good deal of time.” Jones told him, he could
never be more at leisure than at present. “Well, then,” said Benjamin,
“I will obey you; but first I will fasten the door, that none may
interrupt us.” He did so, and then advancing with a solemn air to
Jones, said: “I must begin by telling you, sir, that you yourself have
been the greatest enemy I ever had.” Jones was a little startled at
this sudden declaration. “I your enemy, sir!” says he, with much
amazement, and some sternness in his look. “Nay, be not angry,” said
Benjamin, “for I promise you I am not. You are perfectly innocent of
having intended me any wrong; for you was then an infant: but I shall,
I believe, unriddle all this the moment I mention my name. Did you
never hear, sir, of one Partridge, who had the honour of being reputed
your father, and the misfortune of being ruined by that honour?” “I
have, indeed, heard of that Partridge,” says Jones, “and have always
believed myself to be his son.” “Well, sir,” answered Benjamin, “I am
that Partridge; but I here absolve you from all filial duty, for I do
assure you, you are no son of mine.” “How!” replied Jones, “and is it
possible that a false suspicion should have drawn all the ill
consequences upon you, with which I am too well acquainted?” “It is
possible,” cries Benjamin, “for it is so: but though it is natural
enough for men to hate even the innocent causes of their sufferings,
yet I am of a different temper. I have loved you ever since I heard of
your behaviour to Black George, as I told you; and I am convinced,
from this extraordinary meeting, that you are born to make me amends
for all I have suffered on that account. Besides, I dreamt, the night
before I saw you, that I stumbled over a stool without hurting myself;
which plainly showed me something good was towards me: and last night
I dreamt again, that I rode behind you on a milk-white mare, which is
a very excellent dream, and betokens much good fortune, which I am
resolved to pursue unless you have the cruelty to deny me.”
“I should be very glad, Mr Partridge,” answered Jones, “to have it in
my power to make you amends for your sufferings on my account, though
at present I see no likelihood of it; however, I assure you I will
deny you nothing which is in my power to grant.”
“It is in your power sure enough,” replied Benjamin; “for I desire
nothing more than leave to attend you in this expedition. Nay, I have
so entirely set my heart upon it, that if you should refuse me, you
will kill both a barber and a surgeon in one breath.”
Jones answered, smiling, that he should be very sorry to be the
occasion of so much mischief to the public. He then advanced many
prudential reasons, in order to dissuade Benjamin (whom we shall
hereafter call Partridge) from his purpose; but all were in vain.
Partridge relied strongly on his dream of the milk-white mare.
“Besides, sir,” says he, “I promise you I have as good an inclination
to the cause as any man can possibly have; and go I will, whether you
admit me to go in your company or not.”
Jones, who was as much pleased with Partridge as Partridge could be
with him, and who had not consulted his own inclination but the good
of the other in desiring him to stay behind, when he found his friend
so resolute, at last gave his consent; but then recollecting himself,
he said, “Perhaps, Mr Partridge, you think I shall be able to support
you, but I really am not;” and then taking out his purse, he told out
nine guineas, which he declared were his whole fortune.
Partridge answered, “That his dependence was only on his future
favour; for he was thoroughly convinced he would shortly have enough
in his power. At present, sir,” said he, “I believe I am rather the
richer man of the two; but all I have is at your service, and at your
disposal. I insist upon your taking the whole, and I beg only to
attend you in the quality of your servant; _Nil desperandum est Teucro
duce et auspice Teucro_”: but to this generous proposal concerning the
money, Jones would by no means submit.
It was resolved to set out the next morning, when a difficulty arose
concerning the baggage; for the portmanteau of Mr Jones was too large
to be carried without a horse.
“If I may presume to give my advice,” says Partridge, “this
portmanteau, with everything in it, except a few shirts, should be
left behind. Those I shall be easily able to carry for you, and the
rest of your cloaths will remain very safe locked up in my house.”
This method was no sooner proposed than agreed to; and then the barber
departed, in order to prepare everything for his intended expedition.
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