A short chapter; but which contains sufficient matter to affect the
good-natured reader.
It was Mr Allworthy's custom never to punish any one, not even to turn
away a servant, in a passion. He resolved therefore to delay passing
sentence on Jones till the afternoon.
The poor young man attended at dinner, as usual; but his heart was too
much loaded to suffer him to eat. His grief too was a good deal
aggravated by the unkind looks of Mr Allworthy; whence he concluded
that Western had discovered the whole affair between him and Sophia;
but as to Mr Blifil's story, he had not the least apprehension; for of
much the greater part he was entirely innocent; and for the residue,
as he had forgiven and forgotten it himself, so he suspected no
remembrance on the other side. When dinner was over, and the servants
departed, Mr Allworthy began to harangue. He set forth, in a long
speech, the many iniquities of which Jones had been guilty,
particularly those which this day had brought to light; and concluded
by telling him, “That unless he could clear himself of the charge, he
was resolved to banish him his sight for ever.”
Many disadvantages attended poor Jones in making his defence; nay,
indeed, he hardly knew his accusation; for as Mr Allworthy, in
recounting the drunkenness, &c., while he lay ill, out of modesty sunk
everything that related particularly to himself, which indeed
principally constituted the crime; Jones could not deny the charge.
His heart was, besides, almost broken already; and his spirits were so
sunk, that he could say nothing for himself; but acknowledged the
whole, and, like a criminal in despair, threw himself upon mercy;
concluding, “That though he must own himself guilty of many follies
and inadvertencies, he hoped he had done nothing to deserve what would
be to him the greatest punishment in the world.”
Allworthy answered, “That he had forgiven him too often already, in
compassion to his youth, and in hopes of his amendment: that he now
found he was an abandoned reprobate, and such as it would be criminal
in any one to support and encourage. Nay,” said Mr Allworthy to him,
“your audacious attempt to steal away the young lady, calls upon me to
justify my own character in punishing you. The world who have already
censured the regard I have shown for you may think, with some colour
at least of justice, that I connive at so base and barbarous an
action--an action of which you must have known my abhorrence: and
which, had you had any concern for my ease and honour, as well as for
my friendship, you would never have thought of undertaking. Fie upon
it, young man! indeed there is scarce any punishment equal to your
crimes, and I can scarce think myself justifiable in what I am now
going to bestow on you. However, as I have educated you like a child
of my own, I will not turn you naked into the world. When you open
this paper, therefore, you will find something which may enable you,
with industry, to get an honest livelihood; but if you employ it to
worse purposes, I shall not think myself obliged to supply you
farther, being resolved, from this day forward, to converse no more
with you on any account. I cannot avoid saying, there is no part of
your conduct which I resent more than your ill-treatment of that good
young man (meaning Blifil) who hath behaved with so much tenderness
and honour towards you.”
These last words were a dose almost too bitter to be swallowed. A
flood of tears now gushed from the eyes of Jones, and every faculty of
speech and motion seemed to have deserted him. It was some time before
he was able to obey Allworthy's peremptory commands of departing;
which he at length did, having first kissed his hands with a passion
difficult to be affected, and as difficult to be described.
The reader must be very weak, if, when he considers the light in which
Jones then appeared to Mr Allworthy, he should blame the rigour of his
sentence. And yet all the neighbourhood, either from this weakness, or
from some worse motive, condemned this justice and severity as the
highest cruelty. Nay, the very persons who had before censured the
good man for the kindness and tenderness shown to a bastard (his own,
according to the general opinion), now cried out as loudly against
turning his own child out of doors. The women especially were
unanimous in taking the part of Jones, and raised more stories on the
occasion than I have room, in this chapter, to set down.
One thing must not be omitted, that, in their censures on this
occasion, none ever mentioned the sum contained in the paper which
Allworthy gave Jones, which was no less than five hundred pounds; but
all agreed that he was sent away penniless, and some said naked, from
the house of his inhuman father.