The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

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by Henry Fielding


  Allworthy was sufficiently offended by this Transgression of Jones; for, notwithstanding the Assertions of Mr. Western, it is certain, this worthy Man had never indulged himself in any loose Pleasures with Women, and greatly condemned the Vice of Incontinence in others. Indeed, there is much Reason to imagine, that there was not the least Truth in what Mr. Western affirmed, especially as he laid the Scene of those Impurities at the University, where Mr. Allworthy had never been. In fact, the good Squire was a little too apt to indulge that Kind of Pleasantry which is generally called Rhodomontade; but which may, with as much Propriety, be expressed by a much shorter Word; and, perhaps, we too often supply the Use of this little Monosyllable by others; since very much of what frequently passes in the World for Wit and Humour, should, in the strictest Purity of Language, receive that short Appellation, which, in Conformity to the well-bred Laws of Custom, I here suppress.2

  But whatever Detestation Mr. Allworthy had to this or to any other Vice, he was not so blinded by it, but that he could discern any Virtue in the guilty Person, as clearly, indeed, as if there had been no Mixture of Vice in the same Character. While he was angry, therefore, with the Incontinence of Jones, he was no less pleased with the Honour and Honesty of his Self-accusation. He began now to form in his Mind the same Opinion of this young Fellow, which, we hope, our Reader may have conceived. And in balancing his Faults with his Perfections, the latter seemed rather to preponderate.

  It was to no Purpose, therefore, that Thwackum, who was immediately charged by Mr. Blifil with the Story, unbended all his Rancour against poor Tom. Allworthy gave a patient Hearing to their Invectives, and then answered coldly; ‘That young Men of Tom’s Complexion were too generally addicted to this Vice; but he believed That Youth was sincerely affected with what he had said to him on the Occasion, and he hoped he would not transgress again.’ So that, as the Days of Whipping were at an End, the Tutor had no other Vent but his own Mouth for his Gall, the usual poor Resource of impotent Revenge.

  But Square, who was a less violent, was a much more artful Man; and as he hated Jones more, perhaps, than Thwackum himself did, so he contrived to do him more Mischief in the Mind of Mr. Allworthy.

  The Reader must remember the several little Incidents of the Partridge, the Horse, and the Bible, which were recounted in the second Book. By all which Jones had rather improved than injured the Affection which Mr. Allworthy was inclined to entertain for him. The same, I believe, must have happened to him with every other Person who hath any Idea of Friendship, Generosity, and Greatness of Spirit; that is to say, who hath any Traces of Goodness in his Mind.

  Square himself was not unacquainted with the true Impression which those several Instances of Goodness had made on the excellent Heart of Allworthy; for the Philosopher very well knew what Virtue was, though he was not always, perhaps, steady in its Pursuit: But as for Thwackum, from what Reason I will not determine, no such Thoughts ever entered into his Head: He saw Jones in a bad Light, and he imagined Allworthy saw him in the same, but that he was resolved, from Pride and Stubbornness of Spirit, not to give up the Boy whom he had once cherished; since, by so doing, he must tacitly acknowledge, that his former Opinion of him had been wrong.

  Square therefore embraced this Opportunity of injuring Jones in the tenderest Part, by giving a very bad Turn to all these before-mentioned Occurrences. ‘I am sorry, Sir,’ said he, ‘to own I have been deceived as well as yourself. I could not, I confess, help being pleased with what I ascribed to the Motive of Friendship, though it was carried to an Excess, and all Excess is faulty and vicious; but in this I made Allowance for Youth. Little did I suspect that the Sacrifice of Truth, which we both imagined to have been made to Friendship, was, in reality, a Prostitution of it to a depraved and debauched Appetite. You now plainly see whence all the seeming Generosity of this young Man to the Family of the Game-keeper proceeded. He supported the Father, in order to corrupt the Daughter, and preserved the Family from starving, to bring one of them to Shame and Ruin. This is Friendship! this is Generosity! As Sir Richard Steele says, “Gluttons, who give high Prices for Delicacies, are very worthy to be called generous.”3 In short, I am resolved, from this Instance, never to give Way to the Weakness of human Nature more, nor to think any thing Virtue which doth not exactly quadrate with the unerring Rule of Right.’

  The Goodness of Allworthy had prevented those Considerations from occurring to himself; yet were they too plausible to be absolutely and hastily rejected, when laid before his Eyes by another. Indeed what Square had said sunk very deeply into his Mind, and the Uneasiness which it there created, was very visible to the other; though the good Man would not acknowledge this, but made a very slight Answer, and forcibly drove off the Discourse to some other Subject. It was well, perhaps, for poor Tom, that no such Suggestions had been made before he was pardoned; for they certainly stamped in the Mind of Allworthy the first bad Impression concerning Jones.

  CHAPTER XII.

  Containing much clearer Matters, but which

  flowed from the same Fountain with those in the

  preceding Chapter.

  The Reader will be pleased, I believe, to return with me to Sophia. She passed the Night, after we saw her last, in no very agreeable Manner. Sleep befriended her but little, and Dreams less. In the Morning, when Mrs. Honour her Maid attended her, at the usual Hour, she was found already up and drest.

  Persons who live two or three Miles Distance in the Country are considered as next Door Neighbours, and Transactions at the one House fly with incredible Celerity to the other. Mrs. Honour, therefore, had heard the whole Story of Molly’s Shame; which she, being of a very communicative Temper, had no sooner entered the Apartment of her Mistress, than she began to relate in the following Manner:

  ‘La Ma’am, what doth your La’ship think? the Girl that your La’ship saw at Church on Sunday, whom you thought so handsome; though you would not have thought her so handsome neither, if you had seen her nearer; but to be sure she hath been carried before the Justice for being big with Child. She seemed to me to look like a confident Slut; and to be sure she hath laid the Child to young Mr. Jones. And all the Parish says Mr. Allworthy is so angry with young Mr. Jones, that he won’t see him. To be sure, one can’t help pitying the poor young Man, and yet he doth not deserve much Pity neither, for demeaning himself with such Kind of Trumpery. Yet he is so pretty a Gentleman, I should be sorry to have him turned out of Doors. I dares to swear the Wench was as willing as he; for she was always a forward Kind of Body. And when Wenches are so coming, young Men are not so much to be blamed neither; for to be sure they do no more than what is natural. Indeed it is beneath them to meddle with such dirty Draggle-tails; and whatever happens to them, it is good enough for them. And yet to be sure the vile Baggages are most in Fault. I wishes, with all my Heart, they were well to be whipped at the Cart’s Tail; for it is Pity they should be the Ruin of a pretty young Gentleman; and no body can deny but that Mr. Jones is one of the most handsomest young Men that ever———’

  She was running on thus, when Sophia, with a more peevish Voice than she had ever spoken to her in before, cried, ‘Prithee why do’st thou trouble me with all this Stuff? What Concern have I in what Mr. Jones doth? I suppose you are all alike. And you seem to me to be angry it was not your own Case.’

  ‘I, Ma’am!’ answered Mrs. Honour, ‘I am sorry your Ladyship should have such an Opinion of me. I am sure no-body can say any such thing of me. All the young Fellows in the World may go to the Divil, for me. Because I said he was a handsome Man! Every body says it as well as I—To be sure, I never thought as it was any Harm to say a young Man was handsome; but to be sure I shall never think him so any more now; for handsome is that handsome does. A Beggar Wench!—’

  ‘Stop thy Torrent of Impertinence,’ cries Sophia, ‘and see whether my Father wants me at Breakfast.’

  Mrs. Honour then flung out of the Room muttering much to herself——of which—‘Marry come up, I assure you,’ wa
s all that could be plainly distinguished.

  Whether Mrs. Honour really deserved that Suspicion, of which her Mistress gave her a Hint, is a Matter which we cannot indulge our Reader’s Curiosity by resolving. We will however make him Amends, in disclosing what passed in the Mind of Sophia.

  The Reader will be pleased to recollect, that a secret Affection for Mr. Jones had insensibly stolen into the Bosom of this young Lady. That it had there grown to a pretty great Height before she herself had discovered it. When she first began to perceive its Symptoms, the Sensations were so sweet and pleasing, that she had not Resolution sufficient to check or repel them; and thus she went on cherishing a Passion of which she never once considered the Consequences.

  This Incident relating to Molly first opened her Eyes. She now first perceived the Weakness of which she had been guilty; and though it caused the utmost Perturbation in her Mind, yet it had the Effect of other nauseous Physic, and for the Time expelled her Distemper. Its Operation indeed was most wonderfully quick; and in the short Interval, while her Maid was absent, so entirely removed all Symptoms, that when Mrs. Honour returned with a Summons from her Father, she was become perfectly easy, and had brought herself to a thorough Indifference for Mr. Jones.

  The Diseases of the Mind do in almost every Particular imitate those of the Body. For which Reason, we hope, That learned Faculty, for whom we have so profound a Respect, will pardon us the violent Hands we have been necessitated to lay on several Words and Phrases, which of Right belong to them, and without which our Descriptions must have been often unintelligible.

  Now there is no one Circumstance in which the Distempers of the Mind bear a more exact Analogy to those which are called Bodily, than that Aptness which both have to a Relapse. This is plain, in the violent Diseases of Ambition and Avarice. I have known Ambition, when cured at Court by frequent Disappointments, (which are the only Physic for it,) to break out again in a Contest for Foreman of the Grand Jury at an Assizes; and have heard of a Man who had so far conquered Avarice, as to give away many a Sixpence, that comforted himself, at last, on his Death-bed, by making a crafty and advantageous Bargain concerning his ensuing Funeral, with an Undertaker who had married his only Child.

  In the Affair of Love, which out of strict Conformity with the Stoic Philosophy, we shall here treat as a Disease, this Proneness to relapse is no less conspicuous. Thus it happened to poor Sophia; upon whom, the very next Time she saw young Jones, all the former Symptoms returned, and from that Time cold and hot Fits alternately seized her Heart.

  The Situation of this young Lady was now very different from what it had ever been before. That Passion, which had formerly been so exquisitely delicious, became now a Scorpion in her Bosom. She resisted it therefore with her utmost Force, and summoned every Argument her Reason (which was surprisingly strong for her Age) could suggest, to subdue and expel it. In this she so far succeeded, that she began to hope from Time and Absence a perfect Cure. She resolved therefore to avoid Tom Jones as much as possible; for which Purpose she began to conceive a Design of visiting her Aunt, to which she made no Doubt of obtaining her Father’s Consent.

  But Fortune, who had other Designs in her Head, put an immediate Stop to any such Proceedings, by introducing an Accident, which will be related in the next Chapter.

  CHAPTER XIII.

  A dreadful Accident which befel Sophia. The gallant

  Behaviour of Jones, and the more dreadful

  Consequence of that Behaviour to the young Lady;

  with a short Digression in Favour of the Female Sex.

  Mr. Western grew every Day fonder and fonder of Sophia, insomuch that his beloved Dogs themselves almost gave Place to her in his Affections; but as he could not prevail on himself to abandon these, he contrived very cunningly to enjoy their Company, together with that of his Daughter, by insisting on her riding a hunting with him.

  Sophia, to whom her Father’s Word was a Law, readily complied with his Desires, though she had not the least Delight in a Sport, which was of too rough and masculine a Nature to suit with her Disposition. She had, however, another Motive, beside her Obedience, to accompany the old Gentleman in the Chace; for by her Presence she hoped in some Measure to restrain his Impetuosity, and to prevent him from so frequently exposing his Neck to the utmost Hazard.

  The strongest Objection was that which would have formerly been an Inducement to her, namely, the frequent meeting with young Jones, whom she had determined to avoid; but as the End of the hunting Season now approached, she hoped, by a short Absence with her Aunt, to reason herself entirely out of her unfortunate Passion; and had not any Doubt of being able to meet him in the Field the subsequent Season without the least Danger.

  On the second Day of her Hunting, as she was returning from the Chace, and was arrived within a little Distance from Mr. Western’s House, her Horse, whose mettlesome Spirit required a better Rider, fell suddenly to prancing and capering, in such a Manner, that she was in the most imminent Peril of falling. Tom Jones, who was at a little Distance behind, saw this, and immediately galloped up to her Assistance. As soon as he came up, he leapt from his own Horse, and caught hold of her’s by the Bridle. The unruly Beast presently reared himself an End1 on his hind Legs, and threw his lovely Burthen from his Back, and Jones caught her in his Arms.

  She was so affected with the Fright, that she was not immediately able to satisfy Jones, who was very sollicitous to know whether she had received any Hurt. She soon after, however, recovered her Spirits, assured him she was safe, and thanked him for the Care he had taken of her. Jones answered, ‘If I have preserved you, Madam, I am sufficiently repaid; for I promise you, I would have secured you from the least Harm, at the Expence of a much greater Misfortune to myself, than I have suffered on this Occasion.’

  ‘What Misfortune,’ replied Sophia, eagerly, ‘I hope you have come to no Mischief?’

  ‘Be not concerned, Madam,’ answered Jones, ‘Heaven be praised, you have escaped so well, considering the Danger you was in. If I have broke my Arm, I consider it as a Trifle, in Comparison of what I feared upon your Account.’

  Sophia then screamed out, ‘Broke your Arm! Heaven forbid.’

  ‘I am afraid I have, Madam,’ says Jones, ‘but I beg you will suffer me first to take Care of you. I have a Right-hand yet at your Service, to help you into the next Field, whence we have but a very little Walk to your Father’s House.’

  Sophia seeing his Left Arm dangling by his Side, while he was using the other to lead her, no longer doubted of the Truth. She now grew much paler than her Fears for herself had made her before. All her Limbs were seized with a Trembling, insomuch that Jones could scarce support her; and as her Thoughts were in no less Agitation, she could not refrain from giving Jones a Look so full of Tenderness, that it almost argued a stronger Sensation in her Mind, than even Gratitude and Pity united can raise in the gentlest female Bosom, without the Assistance of a third more powerful Passion.

  Mr. Western, who was advanced at some Distance when this Accident happened, was now returned, as were the rest of the Horse-men. Sophia immediately acquainted them with what had befallen Jones, and begged them to take Care of him. Upon which, Western, who had been much alarmed by meeting his Daughter’s Horse without its Rider, and was now overjoyed to find her unhurt, cried out, ‘I am glad it is no worse, if Tom hath broken his Arm, we will get a Joiner to mend un again.’

  The Squire alighted from his Horse, and proceeded to his House on foot, with his Daughter and Jones. An impartial Spectator, who had met them on the Way, would, on viewing their several Countenances, have concluded Sophia alone to have been the Object of Compassion: For as to Jones, he exulted in having probably saved the Life of the young Lady, at the Price only of a broken Bone; and Mr. Western, though he was not unconcerned at the Accident which had befallen Jones, was, however, delighted in a much higher Degree with the fortunate Escape of his Daughter.

  The Generosity of Sophia’s Temper construed this Behaviour o
f Jones into great Bravery; and it made a deep Impression on her Heart: For certain it is, that there is no one Quality which so generally recommends Men to Women as this; proceeding, if we believe the common Opinion, from that natural Timidity of the Sex; which is, says Mr. Osborne, so great, that a Woman is ‘the most cowardly of all the Creatures God ever made.’2 A Sentiment more remarkable for its Bluntness than for its Truth. Aristotle, in his Politics, doth them, I believe, more Justice, when he says, ‘The Modesty and Fortitude of Men differ from those Virtues in Women; for the Fortitude which becomes a Woman, would be Cowardice in a Man; and the Modesty which becomes a Man, would be Pertness in a Woman.’3 Nor is there, perhaps, more of Truth in the Opinion of those who derive the Partiality which Women are inclined to shew to the Brave, from this Excess of their Fear. Mr. Bayle (I think, in his article of Helen) imputes this, and with greater Probability, to their violent Love of Glory;4 for the Truth of which, we have the Authority of him, who, of all others, saw farthest into human Nature; and who introduces the Heroine of his Odyssey, the great Pattern of matrimonial Love and Constancy, assigning the Glory of her Husband as the only Source of her Affection towards him.*

 

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