Chapter v.

In which Jones receives a letter from Sophia, and goes to a play with

Mrs Miller and Partridge.

The arrival of Black George in town, and the good offices which that

grateful fellow had promised to do for his old benefactor, greatly

comforted Jones in the midst of all the anxiety and uneasiness which

he had suffered on the account of Sophia; from whom, by the means of

the said George, he received the following answer to his letter, which

Sophia, to whom the use of pen, ink, and paper was restored with her

liberty, wrote the very evening when she departed from her

confinement:

“Sir,

“As I do not doubt your sincerity in what you write, you will be

pleased to hear that some of my afflictions are at an end, by the

arrival of my aunt Western, with whom I am at present, and with whom

I enjoy all the liberty I can desire. One promise my aunt hath

insisted on my making, which is, that I will not see or converse

with any person without her knowledge and consent. This promise I

have most solemnly given, and shall most inviolably keep: and though

she hath not expressly forbidden me writing, yet that must be an

omission from forgetfulness; or this, perhaps, is included in the

word conversing. However, as I cannot but consider this as a breach

of her generous confidence in my honour, you cannot expect that I

shall, after this, continue to write myself or to receive letters,

without her knowledge. A promise is with me a very sacred thing, and

to be extended to everything understood from it, as well as to what

is expressed by it; and this consideration may, perhaps, on

reflection, afford you some comfort. But why should I mention a

comfort to you of this kind; for though there is one thing in which

I can never comply with the best of fathers, yet am I firmly

resolved never to act in defiance of him, or to take any step of

consequence without his consent. A firm persuasion of this must

teach you to divert your thoughts from what fortune hath (perhaps)

made impossible. This your own interest persuades you. This may

reconcile, I hope, Mr Allworthy to you; and if it will, you have my

injunctions to pursue it. Accidents have laid some obligations on

me, and your good intentions probably more. Fortune may, perhaps, be

some time kinder to us both than at present. Believe this, that I

shall always think of you as I think you deserve, and am,

Sir,

your obliged humble servant,

Sophia Western.

“I charge you write to me no more--at present at least; and accept

this, which is now of no service to me, which I know you must want,

and think you owe the trifle only to that fortune by which you found

it.”[*]

[*] Meaning, perhaps, the bank-bill for £100.

A child who hath just learnt his letters would have spelt this letter

out in less time than Jones took in reading it. The sensations it

occasioned were a mixture of joy and grief; somewhat like what divide

the mind of a good man when he peruses the will of his deceased

friend, in which a large legacy, which his distresses make the more

welcome, is bequeathed to him. Upon the whole, however, he was more

pleased than displeased; and, indeed, the reader may probably wonder

that he was displeased at all; but the reader is not quite so much in

love as was poor Jones; and love is a disease which, though it may, in

some instances, resemble a consumption (which it sometimes causes), in

others proceeds in direct opposition to it, and particularly in this,

that it never flatters itself, or sees any one symptom in a favourable

light.

One thing gave him complete satisfaction, which was, that his mistress

had regained her liberty, and was now with a lady where she might at

least assure herself of a decent treatment. Another comfortable

circumstance was the reference which she made to her promise of never

marrying any other man; for however disinterested he might imagine his

passion, and notwithstanding all the generous overtures made in his

letter, I very much question whether he could have heard a more

afflicting piece of news than that Sophia was married to another,

though the match had been never so great, and never so likely to end

in making her completely happy. That refined degree of Platonic

affection which is absolutely detached from the flesh, and is, indeed,

entirely and purely spiritual, is a gift confined to the female part

of the creation; many of whom I have heard declare (and, doubtless,

with great truth), that they would, with the utmost readiness, resign

a lover to a rival, when such resignation was proved to be necessary

for the temporal interest of such lover. Hence, therefore, I conclude

that this affection is in nature, though I cannot pretend to say I

have ever seen an instance of it.

Mr Jones having spent three hours in reading and kissing the aforesaid

letter, and being, at last, in a state of good spirits, from the

last-mentioned considerations, he agreed to carry an appointment,

which he had before made, into execution. This was, to attend Mrs

Miller, and her younger daughter, into the gallery at the play-house,

and to admit Mr Partridge as one of the company. For as Jones had

really that taste for humour which many affect, he expected to enjoy

much entertainment in the criticisms of Partridge, from whom he

expected the simple dictates of nature, unimproved, indeed, but

likewise unadulterated, by art.

In the first row then of the first gallery did Mr Jones, Mrs Miller,

her youngest daughter, and Partridge, take their places. Partridge

immediately declared it was the finest place he had ever been in. When

the first music was played, he said, “It was a wonder how so many

fiddlers could play at one time, without putting one another out.”

While the fellow was lighting the upper candles, he cried out to Mrs

Miller, “Look, look, madam, the very picture of the man in the end of

the common-prayer book before the gunpowder-treason service.” Nor

could he help observing, with a sigh, when all the candles were

lighted, “That here were candles enough burnt in one night, to keep an

honest poor family for a whole twelvemonth.”

As soon as the play, which was Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, began,

Partridge was all attention, nor did he break silence till the

entrance of the ghost; upon which he asked Jones, “What man that was

in the strange dress; something,” said he, “like what I have seen in a

picture. Sure it is not armour, is it?” Jones answered, “That is the

ghost.” To which Partridge replied with a smile, “Persuade me to that,

sir, if you can. Though I can't say I ever actually saw a ghost in my

life, yet I am certain I should know one, if I saw him, better than

that comes to. No, no, sir, ghosts don't appear in such dresses as

that, neither.” In this mistake, which caused much laughter in the

neighbourhood of Partridge, he was suffered to continue, till the

scene between the ghost and Hamlet, when Partridge gave that credit to

Mr Garrick, which he had denied to Jones, and fell into so violent a

trembling, that his knees knocked against each other. Jones asked him

what was the matter, and whether he was afraid of the warrior upon the

stage? “O la! sir,” said he, “I perceive now it is what you told me. I

am not afraid of anything; for I know it is but a play. And if it was

really a ghost, it could do one no harm at such a distance, and in so

much company; and yet if I was frightened, I am not the only person.”

“Why, who,” cries Jones, “dost thou take to be such a coward here

besides thyself?” “Nay, you may call me coward if you will; but if

that little man there upon the stage is not frightened, I never saw

any man frightened in my life. Ay, ay: go along with you: Ay, to be

sure! Who's fool then? Will you? Lud have mercy upon such

fool-hardiness!--Whatever happens, it is good enough for

you.----Follow you? I'd follow the devil as soon. Nay, perhaps it is

the devil----for they say he can put on what likeness he pleases.--Oh!

here he is again.----No farther! No, you have gone far enough already;

farther than I'd have gone for all the king's dominions.” Jones

offered to speak, but Partridge cried “Hush, hush! dear sir, don't you

hear him?” And during the whole speech of the ghost, he sat with his

eyes fixed partly on the ghost and partly on Hamlet, and with his

mouth open; the same passions which succeeded each other in Hamlet,

succeeding likewise in him.

When the scene was over Jones said, “Why, Partridge, you exceed my

expectations. You enjoy the play more than I conceived possible.”

“Nay, sir,” answered Partridge, “if you are not afraid of the devil, I

can't help it; but to be sure, it is natural to be surprized at such

things, though I know there is nothing in them: not that it was the

ghost that surprized me, neither; for I should have known that to have

been only a man in a strange dress; but when I saw the little man so

frightened himself, it was that which took hold of me.” “And dost thou

imagine, then, Partridge,” cries Jones, “that he was really

frightened?” “Nay, sir,” said Partridge, “did not you yourself observe

afterwards, when he found it was his own father's spirit, and how he

was murdered in the garden, how his fear forsook him by degrees, and

he was struck dumb with sorrow, as it were, just as I should have

been, had it been my own case?--But hush! O la! what noise is that?

There he is again.----Well, to be certain, though I know there is

nothing at all in it, I am glad I am not down yonder, where those men

are.” Then turning his eyes again upon Hamlet, “Ay, you may draw your

sword; what signifies a sword against the power of the devil?”

During the second act, Partridge made very few remarks. He greatly

admired the fineness of the dresses; nor could he help observing upon

the king's countenance. “Well,” said he, “how people may be deceived

by faces! _Nulla fides fronti_ is, I find, a true saying. Who would

think, by looking in the king's face, that he had ever committed a

murder?” He then enquired after the ghost; but Jones, who intended he

should be surprized, gave him no other satisfaction, than, “that he

might possibly see him again soon, and in a flash of fire.”

Partridge sat in a fearful expectation of this; and now, when the

ghost made his next appearance, Partridge cried out, “There, sir, now;

what say you now? is he frightened now or no? As much frightened as

you think me, and, to be sure, nobody can help some fears. I would not

be in so bad a condition as what's his name, squire Hamlet, is there,

for all the world. Bless me! what's become of the spirit? As I am a

living soul, I thought I saw him sink into the earth.” “Indeed, you

saw right,” answered Jones. “Well, well,” cries Partridge, “I know it

is only a play: and besides, if there was anything in all this, Madam

Miller would not laugh so; for as to you, sir, you would not be

afraid, I believe, if the devil was here in person.--There, there--Ay,

no wonder you are in such a passion, shake the vile wicked wretch to

pieces. If she was my own mother, I would serve her so. To be sure all

duty to a mother is forfeited by such wicked doings.----Ay, go about

your business, I hate the sight of you.”

Our critic was now pretty silent till the play, which Hamlet

introduces before the king. This he did not at first understand, till

Jones explained it to him; but he no sooner entered into the spirit of

it, than he began to bless himself that he had never committed murder.

Then turning to Mrs Miller, he asked her, “If she did not imagine the

king looked as if he was touched; though he is,” said he, “a good

actor, and doth all he can to hide it. Well, I would not have so much

to answer for, as that wicked man there hath, to sit upon a much

higher chair than he sits upon. No wonder he ran away; for your sake

I'll never trust an innocent face again.”

The grave-digging scene next engaged the attention of Partridge, who

expressed much surprize at the number of skulls thrown upon the stage.

To which Jones answered, “That it was one of the most famous

burial-places about town.” “No wonder then,” cries Partridge, “that

the place is haunted. But I never saw in my life a worse grave-digger.

I had a sexton, when I was clerk, that should have dug three graves

while he is digging one. The fellow handles a spade as if it was the

first time he had ever had one in his hand. Ay, ay, you may sing. You

had rather sing than work, I believe.”--Upon Hamlet's taking up the

skull, he cried out, “Well! it is strange to see how fearless some men

are: I never could bring myself to touch anything belonging to a dead

man, on any account.--He seemed frightened enough too at the ghost, I

thought. _Nemo omnibus horis sapit._”

Little more worth remembering occurred during the play, at the end of

which Jones asked him, “Which of the players he had liked best?” To

this he answered, with some appearance of indignation at the question,

“The king, without doubt.” “Indeed, Mr Partridge,” says Mrs Miller,

“you are not of the same opinion with the town; for they are all

agreed, that Hamlet is acted by the best player who ever was on the

stage.” “He the best player!” cries Partridge, with a contemptuous

sneer, “why, I could act as well as he myself. I am sure, if I had

seen a ghost, I should have looked in the very same manner, and done

just as he did. And then, to be sure, in that scene, as you called it,

between him and his mother, where you told me he acted so fine, why,

Lord help me, any man, that is, any good man, that had such a mother,

would have done exactly the same. I know you are only joking with me;

but indeed, madam, though I was never at a play in London, yet I have

seen acting before in the country; and the king for my money; he

speaks all his words distinctly, half as loud again as the

other.--Anybody may see he is an actor.”

While Mrs Miller was thus engaged in conversation with Partridge, a

lady came up to Mr Jones, whom he immediately knew to be Mrs

Fitzpatrick. She said, she had seen him from the other part of the

gallery, and had taken that opportunity of speaking to him, as she had

something to say, which might be of great service to himself. She then

acquainted him with her lodgings, and made him an appointment the next

day in the morning; which, upon recollection, she presently changed to

the afternoon; at which time Jones promised to attend her.

Thus ended the adventure at the playhouse; where Partridge had

afforded great mirth, not only to Jones and Mrs Miller, but to all who

sat within hearing, who were more attentive to what he said, than to

anything that passed on the stage.

He durst not go to bed all that night, for fear of the ghost; and for

many nights after sweated two or three hours before he went to sleep,

with the same apprehensions, and waked several times in great horrors,

crying out, “Lord have mercy upon us! there it is.”