The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling 94 – Fielding · Verses Across
Literature · Classic Novels
The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling 94Book 8 · Chapter 6
18
Literature · Classic Novels
The History of Tom Jones, a Foundling 94
Book 8 · Chapter 6
FieldingEnglish
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.
