persons of quality, yet they never confer it on those of their own
order without taking care to be well paid for their pains.
Chapter 3
In which the surgeon makes his second appearance
Before we proceed any farther, that the reader may not be mistaken
in imagining the landlady knew more than she did, nor surprized that
she knew so much, it may be necessary to inform him that the
lieutenant had acquainted her that the name of Sophia had been the
occasion of the quarrel; and as for the rest of her knowledge, the
sagacious reader will observe how she came by it in the preceding
scene. Great curiosity was indeed mixed with her virtues; and she
never willingly suffered any one to depart from her house, without
enquiring as much as possible into their names, families, and
fortunes.
She was no sooner gone than Jones, instead of animadverting on her
behaviour, reflected that he was in the same bed which he was informed
had held his dear Sophia. This occasioned a thousand fond and tender
thoughts, which we would dwell longer upon, did we not consider that
such kind of lovers will make a very inconsiderable part of our
readers. In this situation the surgeon found him, when he came to
dress his wound. The doctor perceiving, upon examination, that his
pulse was disordered, and hearing that he had not slept, declared that
he was in great danger, for he apprehended a fever was coming on,
which he would have prevented by bleeding, but Jones would not submit,
declaring he would lose no more blood; "and, doctor," says he, "if you
will be so kind only to dress my head, I have no doubt of being well
in a day or two."
"I wish," answered the surgeon, "I could assure your being well in a
month or two. Well, indeed! No, no, people are not so soon well of
such contusions; but, sir, I am not at this time of day to be
instructed in my operations by a patient, and I insist on making a
revulsion before I dress you."
Jones persisted obstinately in his refusal, and the doctor at last
yielded; telling him at the same time that he would not be
answerable for the ill consequence, and hoped he would do him the
justice to acknowledge that he had given him a contrary advice;
which the patient promised he would.
The doctor retired into the kitchen, where, addressing himself to
the landlady, he complained bitterly of the undutiful behaviour of his
patient, who would not be blooded, though he was in a fever.
"It is an eating fever then," says the landlady; "for he hath
devoured two swinging buttered toasts this morning for breakfast."
"Very likely," says the doctor: "I have known people eat in a fever;
and it is very easily accounted for; because the acidity occasioned by
the febrile matter may stimulate the nerves of the diaphragm, and
thereby occasion a craving which will not be easily distinguishable
from a natural appetite; but the aliment will not be corrected, nor
assimilated into chyle, and so will corrode the vascular orifices, and
thus will aggravate the febrific symptoms. Indeed, I think the
gentleman in a very dangerous way, and, if he is not blooded, I am
afraid will die."
"Every man must die some time or other," answered the good woman;
"it is no business of mine. I hope, doctor, you would not have me hold
him while you bleed him. But, hark'ee, a word in your ear; I would
advise you, before you proceed too far, to take care who is to be your
paymaster."
"Paymaster!" said the doctor, staring; "why, I've a gentleman
under my hands, have I not?"
"I imagined so as well as you," said the landlady; "but, as my first
husband used to say, everything is not what it looks to be. He is an
arrant scrub, I assure you. However, take no notice that I mentioned
anything to you of the matter; but I think people in business oft
always to let one another know such things."
"And have I suffered such a fellow as this," cries the doctor, in
a passion, "to instruct me? Shall I hear my practice insulted by one
who will not pay me? I am glad I have made this discovery in time. I
will see now whether he will be blooded or no." He then immediately
went upstairs, and flinging open the door of the chamber with much
violence, awaked poor Jones from a very sound nap, into which he was
fallen, and, what was still worse, from a delicious dream concerning
Sophia.
"Will you be blooded or no?" cries the doctor, in a rage. "I have
told you my resolution already," answered Jones, "and I wish with
all my heart you had taken my answer; for you have awaked me out of
the sweetest sleep which I ever had in my life."
"Ay, ay," cries the doctor; "many a man hath dozed away his life.
Sleep is not always good, no more than food; but remember, I demand of
you for the last time, will you be blooded?"- "I answer you for the
last time," said Jones, "I will not."- "Then I wash my hands of you,"
cries the doctor; "and I desire you to pay me for the trouble I have
had already. Two journeys at 5s. each, two dressings at 5s. more,
and half a crown for phlebotomy."- "I hope," said Jones, "you don't
intend to leave me in this condition."- "Indeed but I shall," said
the other. "Then," said Jones, "you have used me rascally, and I
will not pay you a farthing."- "Very well," cries the doctor; "the
first loss is the best. What a pox did my landlady mean by sending for
me to such vagabonds!" At which words he flung out of the room, and
his patient turning himself about soon recovered his sleep; but his
dream was unfortunately gone.
Chapter 4
In which is introduced one of the pleasantest barbers that was
ever recorded in history, the barber of Bagdad, or he in Don
Quixote, not excepted
The clock had now struck five when Jones awaked from a nap of
seven hours, so much refreshed, and in such perfect health and
spirits, that he resolved to get up and dress himself; for which
purpose he unlocked his portmanteau, and took out clean linen, and a
suit of cloaths; but first he slipt on a frock, and went down into the
kitchen to bespeak something that might pacify certain tumults he
found rising within his stomach.
Meeting the landlady, he accosted her with great civility, and
asked, "What he could have for dinner?"- "For dinner!" says she; "it
is an odd time a day to think about dinner. There is nothing drest in
the house, and the fire is almost out."- "Well, says he, "I must have
something to eat, and it is almost indifferent to me what; for, to
tell you the truth, I was never more hungry in my life."- "Then,"
says she, "I believe there is a piece of cold buttock and carrot,
which will fit you."- "Nothing better," answered Jones; "but I should
be obliged to you, if you would let it be fried." To which the
landlady consented, and said, smiling, "she was glad to see him so
well recovered;" for the sweetness of our heroe's temper was almost
irresistible; besides, she was really no ill-humoured woman at the
bottom; but she loved money so much, that she hated everything which
had the semblance of poverty.
Jones now returned in order to dress himself, while his dinner was
preparing, and was, according to his orders, attended by the barber.
This barber, who went by the name of Little Benjamin, was a fellow
of great oddity and humour, which had frequently let him into small
inconveniencies, such as slaps in the face, kicks in the breech,
broken bones, &c. For every one doth not understand a jest; and
those who do are often displeased with being themselves the subjects
of it. This vice was, however, incurable in him; and though he had
often smarted for it, yet if ever he conceived a joke, he was
certain to be delivered of it, without the least respect of persons,
time, or place.
He had a great many other particularities in his character, which
I shall not mention, as the reader will himself very easily perceive
them, on his farther acquaintance with this extraordinary person.
Jones being impatient to be drest, for a reason which may be
easily imagined, thought the shaver was very tedious in preparing
his suds, and begged him to make haste; to which the other answered
with much gravity, for he never discomposed his muscles on any
account, "Festina lente,* is a proverb which I learned long before I
ever touched a razor."- "I find, friend, you are a scholar," replied
Jones. "A poor one," said the barber, "non omnia possumus
omnes."-*(2) "Again!" said Jones; "I fancy you are good at capping
verses."- "Excuse me, sir," said the barber, "non tanto me dignor
honore."*(3) And then proceeding to his operation, "Sir," said he,
"since I have dealt in suds, I could never discover more than two
reasons for shaving; the one is to get a beard, and the other to get
rid of one. I conjecture, sir, it may not be long since you shaved
from the former of these motives. Upon my word, you have had good
success; for one may say of your beard, that it is tondenti
gravior."-*(4) "I conjecture," says Jones, "that thou art a very
comical fellow."- "You mistake me widely, sir," said the barber: "I
am too much addicted to the study of philosophy; hinc illae
lacrymae,*(5) sir; that's my misfortune. Too much learning hath
been my ruin."- "Indeed," says Jones, "I confess, friend, you have
more learning than generally belongs to your trade; but I can't see
how it can have injured you."- "Alas! sir," answered the shaver, "my
father disinherited me for it. He was a dancing master; and because I
could read before I could dance, he took an aversion to me, and left
every farthing among his other children.-Will you please to have your
temples- O la! I ask your pardon, I fancy there is hiatus in
manuscriptis. I heard you was going to the wars; but I find it was a
mistake."- "Why do you conclude so?" says Jones. "Sure, sir,"
answered the barber, "you are too wise a man to carry a broken head
thither; for that would be carrying coals to Newcastle."
*Make haste slowly.
*(2) We cannot all of us do everything.
*(3) I am not worthy of so much honor.
*(4) Hard to share.
*(5) Thus these tears.
"Upon my word," cries Jones, "thou art a very odd fellow, and I like
thy humour extremely; I shall be very glad if thou wilt come to me
after dinner, and drink a glass with me; I long to be better
acquainted with thee."
"O dear sir!" said the barber, "I can do you twenty times as great a
favour, if you will accept of it."- "What is that, my friend?" cries
Jones. "Why, I will drink a bottle with you if you please; for I
dearly love good-nature; and as you have found me out to be a comical
fellow, so I have no skill in physiognomy, if you are not one of the
best-natured gentlemen in the universe." Jones now walked downstairs
neatly drest, and perhaps the fair Adonis was not a lovelier figure;
and yet he had no charms for my landlady; for as that good woman did
not resemble Venus at all in her person, so neither did she in her
taste. Happy had it been for Nanny the chambermaid, if she had seen
with the eyes of her mistress, for that poor girl fell so violently in
love with Jones in five minutes, that her passion afterwards cost
her many a sigh. This Nanny was extremely pretty, and altogether as
coy; for she had refused a drawer, and one or two young farmers in the
neighbourhood, but the bright eyes of our heroe thawed all her ice
in a moment.
When Jones returned to the kitchen, his cloth was not yet laid;
nor indeed was there any occasion it should, his dinner remaining in
statu quo, as did the fire which was to dress it. This
disappointment might have put many a philosophical temper into a
passion; but it had no such effect on Jones. He only gave the landlady
a gentle rebuke, saying, "Since it was so difficult to get it heated
he would eat the beef cold." But now the good woman, whether moved
by compassion, or by shame, or by whatever other motive, I cannot
tell, first gave her servants a round scold for disobeying the
orders which she had never given, and then bidding the drawer lay a
napkin in the Sun, she set about the matter in good earnest, and
soon accomplished it.
This Sun, into which Jones was now conducted, was truly named, as
lucus a non lucendo*; for it was an apartment into which the sun had
scarce ever looked. It was indeed the worst room in the house; and
happy was it for Jones that it was so. However, he was now too
hungry to find any fault; but having once satisfied his appetite, he
ordered the drawer to carry a bottle of wine into a better room, and
expressed some resentment at having been shown into a dungeon.
*A play of words on lucus, a grove, and lucere, to shine: "a grove
from not being light"; thus, a non-sequitor.
The drawer having obeyed his commands, he was, after some time,
attended by the barber, who would not indeed have suffered him to wait
so long for his company had he not been listening in the kitchen to
the landlady, who was entertaining a circle that she had gathered
round her with the history of poor Jones, part of which she had
extracted from his own lips, and the other part was her own
ingenious composition; for she said "he was a poor parish boy, taken
into the house of Squire Allworthy, where he was bred up as an
apprentice, and now turned out of doors for his misdeeds, particularly
for making love to his young mistress, and probably for robbing the
house; for how else should he come by the little money he hath; and
