It hath been observed, that Fortune seldom doth Things by Halves. To say Truth, there is no End to her Freaks whenever she is disposed to gratify or displease. No sooner had our Heroe retired with his Dido, but
Speluncam Blifil, Dux & Divinus eandem
Deveniunt.——3
the Parson and the young Squire, who were taking a serious Walk, arrived at the Stile which leads into the Grove, and the latter caught a View of the Lovers, just as they were sinking out of Sight.
Blifil knew Jones very well, though he was at above a hundred Yards Distance, and he was as positive to the Sex of his Companion, though not to the individual Person. He started, blessed himself, and uttered a very solemn Ejaculation.
Thwackum expressed some Surprize at these sudden Emotions, and asked the Reason of them. To which Blifil answered, ‘He was certain he had seen a Fellow and Wench retire together among the Bushes, which he doubted not was with some wicked Purpose.’ As to the Name of Jones he thought proper to conceal it, and why he did so must be left to the Judgment of the sagacious Reader: For we never chuse to assign Motives to the Actions of Men, when there is any Possibility of our being mistaken.
The Parson, who was not only strictly chaste in his own Person, but a great Enemy to the opposite Vice in all others, fired at this Information. He desired Mr. Blifil to conduct him immediately to the Place, which as he approached, he breathed forth Vengeance mixed with Lamentations; nor did he refrain from casting some oblique Reflections on Mr. Allworthy; insinuating that the Wickedness of the Country was principally owing to the Encouragement he had given to Vice, by having exerted such kindness to a Bastard, and by having mitigated that just and wholesome Rigour of the Law, which allots a very severe Punishment to loose Wenches.
The Way, through which our Hunters were to pass in Pursuit of their Game, was so beset with Briars, that it greatly obstructed their Walk, and caused, besides, such a Rustling, that Jones had sufficient Warning of their Arrival, before they could surprize him; nay, indeed, so incapable was Thwackum of concealing his Indignation, and such Vengeance did he mutter forth every Step he took, that this alone must have abundantly satisfied Jones that he was (to use the Language of Sportsmen) found sitting.
CHAPTER XI.
In which a Simile in Mr. Pope ’s Period of a Mile,1
introduces as bloody a Battle as can possibly be
fought without the Assistance of Steel or cold Iron.
As in the Season of Rutting (an uncouth Phrase, by which the Vulgar denote that gentle Dalliance, which, in the well-wooded Forest* of Hampshire, passes between Lovers of the Ferine Kind) if while the lofty crested Stag meditates the amorous Sport, a Couple of Puppies, or any other Beasts of hostile Note, should wander so near the Temple of Venus Ferina, that the fair Hind should shrink from the Place, touched with that Somewhat, either of Fear or Frolic, of Nicety or Skittishness, with which Nature hath bedecked all Females, or hath, at least, instructed them how to put it on; lest, through the Indelicacy of Males, the Samian Mysteries3 should be pryed into by unhallowed Eyes: For at the Celebration of these Rites, the female Priestess cries out with her in Virgil, (who was then, probably, hard at Work on such Celebration)
—Procul, O procul este, profani;
Proclamat Vates, totoque absistite Luco.
—Far hence be Souls prophane,
The Sibyl cry’d, and from the Grove abstain.4
DRYDEN.
If, I say, while these sacred Rites, which are in common to Genus omne Animantium,5 are in Agitation between the Stag and his Mistress, any hostile Beasts should venture too near, on the first Hint given by the frighted Hind, fierce and tremendous rushes forth the Stag to the Entrance of the Thicket; there stands he Centinel over his Love, stamps the Ground with his Foot, and with his Horns brandished aloft in Air, proudly provokes the apprehended Foe to Combat.
Thus, and more terrible, when he perceived the Enemy’s Approach, leaped forth our Heroe. Many a Step advanced he forwards, in order to conceal the trembling Hind, and, if possible, to secure her Retreat. And now Thwackum having first darted some livid Lightning from his fiery Eyes, began to thunder forth, ‘Fie upon it! Fie upon it! Mr. Jones. Is it possible you should be the Person!’ ‘You see,’ answered Jones, ‘it is possible I should be here.’ ‘And who,’ said Thwackum, ‘is that wicked Slut with you?’ ‘If I have any wicked Slut with me,’ cries Jones, ‘it is possible I shall not let you know who she is.’ ‘I command you to tell me immediately,’ says Thwackum, ‘and I would not have you imagine, young Man, that your Age, though it hath somewhat abridged the Purpose of Tuition, hath totally taken away the Authority of the Master. The Relation of the Master and Scholar is indelible, as, indeed, all other Relations are: For they all derive their Original from Heaven. I would have you think yourself, therefore, as much obliged to obey me now, as when I taught you your first Rudiments.’ ‘I believe you would,’ cries Jones, ‘but that will not happen, unless you had the same Birchen Argument to convince me.’ ‘Then I must tell you plainly,’ said Thwackum, ‘I am resolved to discover the wicked Wretch.’ ‘And I must tell you plainly,’ returned Jones, ‘I am resolved you shall not.’ Thwackum then offered to advance, and Jones laid hold of his Arms; which Mr. Blifil endeavoured to rescue, declaring ‘he would not see his old Master insulted.’
Jones now finding himself engaged with two, thought it necessary to rid himself of one of his Antagonists as soon as possible. He, therefore, applied to the weakest first; and letting the Parson go, he directed a Blow at the young Squire’s Breast, which luckily taking place, reduced him to measure his Length on the Ground.
Thwackum was so intent on the Discovery, that the Moment he found himself at Liberty, he stept forward directly into the Fern, without any great Consideration of what might, in the mean time, befal his Friend; but he had advanced a very few Paces into the Thicket, before Jones having defeated Blifil, overtook the Parson, and dragged him backward by the Skirt of his Coat.
This Parson had been a Champion in his Youth, and had won much Honour by his Fist, both at School and at the University. He had now, indeed, for a great Number of Years, declined the Practice of that noble Art; yet was his Courage full as strong as his Faith, and his Body no less strong than either. He was moreover, as the Reader may, perhaps, have conceived, somewhat irascible in his Nature. When he looked back, therefore, and saw his Friend stretched out on the Ground, and found himself at the same time so roughly handled by one who had formerly been only passive in all Conflicts between them, (a Circumstance which highly aggravated the whole) his Patience at length gave way; he threw himself into a Posture of Offence, and collecting all his Force, attacked Jones in the Front, with as much Impetuosity as he had formerly attacked him in the Rear.
Our Heroe received the Enemy’s Attack with the most undaunted Intrepidity, and his Bosom resounded with the Blow. This he presently returned with no less Violence, aiming likewise at the Parson’s Breast; but he dextrously drove down the Fist of Jones, so that it reached only his Belly, where two Pounds of Beef and as many of Pudding were then deposited, and whence consequently no hollow Sound could proceed. Many lusty Blows, much more pleasant as well as easy to have seen, than to read or describe, were given on both Sides; at last a violent Fall in which Jones had thrown his Knees into Thwackum’s Breast, so weakened the latter, that Victory had been no longer dubious, had not Blifil, who had now recovered his Strength, again renewed the Fight, and, by engaging with Jones, given the Parson a Moment’s time to shake his Ears, and to regain his Breath.
And now both together attacked our Heroe, whose Blows did not retain that Force with which they had fallen at first; so weakened was he by his Combat with Thwackum: For though the Pedagogue chose rather to play Solos on the human Instrument, and had been lately used to those only, yet he still retained enough of his antient Knowledge to perform his Part very well in a Duet.
The Victory, according to modern Custom, was like to be decided by Numbers,6 when, on a sudden, a fourth P
air of Fists appeared in the Battle, and immediately paid their Compliments to the Parson; and the Owner of them, at the same time, crying out, ‘Are not you ashamed and be d—nd to you, to fall two of you upon one?’
The Battle, which was of the kind, that for Distinction’s sake is called ROYAL,7 now raged with the utmost Violence during a few Minutes; till Blifil being a second time laid sprawling by Jones, Thwackum condescended to apply for Quarter to his new Antagonist, who was now found to be Mr. Western himself: For in the Heat of the Action none of the Combatants had recognized him.
In fact, that honest Squire, happening in his Afternoon’s Walk with some Company, to pass through the Field where the bloody Battle was fought, and having concluded from seeing three Men engaged, that two of them must be on a Side, he hastened from his Companions, and with more Gallantry than Policy, espoused the Cause of the weaker Party. By which generous Proceeding, he very probably prevented Mr. Jones from becoming a Victim to the Wrath of Thwackum, and to the pious Friendship which Blifil bore his old Master: For besides the Disadvantage of such Odds, Jones had not yet sufficiently recovered the former Strength of his broken Arm. This Reinforcement, however, soon put an End to the Action, and Jones with his Ally obtained the Victory.
CHAPTER XII.
In which is seen a more moving Spectacle, than all the
Blood in the Bodies of Thwackum and Blifil and of
Twenty other such, is capable of producing.
The rest of Mr. Western’s Company were now come up, being just at the Instant when the Action was over. These were the honest Clergyman, whom we have formerly seen at Mr. Western’s Table, Mrs. Western the Aunt of Sophia; and lastly, the lovely Sophia herself.
At this time, the following was the Aspect of the bloody Field. In one Place, lay on the Ground, all pale and almost breathless, the vanquished Blifil. Near him stood the Conqueror Jones, almost covered with Blood, part of which was naturally his own, and Part had been lately the Property of the Reverend Mr. Thwackum. In a third Place stood the said Thwackum, like King Porus, sullenly submitting to the Conqueror.1 The last Figure in the Piece was Western the Great, most gloriously forbearing the vanquished Foe.
Blifil, in whom there was little Sign of Life, was at first the principal Object of the Concern of every one, and particularly of Mrs. Western, who had drawn from her Pocket a Bottle of Harts-horn, and was herself about to apply it to his Nostrils; when on a sudden the Attention of the whole Company was diverted from poor Blifil, whose Spirit, if it had any such Design, might have now taken an Opportunity of stealing off to the other World, without any Ceremony.
For now a more melancholy and a more lovely Object lay motionless before them. This was no other than the charming Sophia herself, who, from the Sight of Blood, or from Fear for her Father, or from some other Reason, had fallen down in a Swoon, before any one could get to her Assistance.
Mrs. Western first saw her, and screamed. Immediately two or three Voices cried out, ‘Miss Western is dead.’ Hartshorn, Water, every Remedy was called for, almost at one and the same Instant.
The Reader may remember, that in our Description of this Grove we mentioned a murmuring Brook, which Brook did not come there, as such gentle Streams flow through vulgar Romances, with no other Purpose than to murmur. No; Fortune had decreed to enoble this little Brook with a higher Honour than any of those which wash the Plains of Arcadia, ever deserved.
Jones was rubbing Blifil’s Temples: For he began to fear he had given him a Blow too much, when the Words, Miss Western and Dead, rushed at once on his Ear. He started up, left Blifil to his Fate, and flew to Sophia, whom, while all the rest were running against each other backward and forward looking for Water in the dry Paths, he caught up in his Arms, and then ran away with her over the Field to the Rivulet above mentioned; where, plunging himself into the Water, he contrived to besprinkle her Face, Head, and Neck very plentifully.
Happy was it for Sophia, that the same Confusion which prevented her other Friends from serving her, prevented them likewise from obstructing Jones. He had carried her half ways before they knew what he was doing, and he had actually restored her to Life before they reached the Water-side: She stretched out her Arms, opened her Eyes, and cried, ‘Oh, Heavens!’ just as her Father, Aunt, and the Parson came up.
Jones, who had hitherto held this lovely Burthen in his Arms, now relinquished his Hold; but gave her at the same Instant a tender Caress, which, had her Senses been then perfectly restored, could not have escaped her Observation. As she expressed, therefore, no Displeasure at this Freedom, we suppose she was not sufficiently recovered from her Swoon at the Time.
This tragical Scene was now converted into a sudden Scene of Joy. In this, our Heroe was, most certainly, the principal Character: For as he probably felt more ecstatic Delight in having saved Sophia, than she herself received from being saved; so neither were the Congratulations paid to her equal to what were conferred on Jones, especially by Mr. Western himself, who, after having once or twice embraced his Daughter, fell to hugging and kissing Jones. He called him the Preserver of Sophia, and declared there was nothing, except her, or his Estate, which he would not give him; but upon Recollection, he afterwards excepted his Fox-hounds, the Chevalier, and Miss Slouch (for so he called his favourite Mare.)
All Fears for Sophia being now removed, Jones became the Object of the Squire’s Consideration. ‘Come, my Lad,’ says Western, ‘D’off thy Quoat and wash thy Feace: For att in a devilish Pickle, I promise thee. Come, come, wash thyself, and shat go Huome with me; and we’l zee to vind thee another Quoat.’
Jones immediately complied, threw off his Coat, went down to the Water, and washed both his Face and Bosom: For the latter was as much exposed, and as bloody as the former: But tho’ the Water could clear off the Blood, it could not remove the black and blue Marks which Thwackum had imprinted on both his Face and Breast, and which, being discerned by Sophia, drew from her a Sigh, and a Look full of inexpressible Tenderness.
Jones received this full in his Eyes, and it had infinitely a stronger Effect on him than all the Contusions which he had received before. An Effect, however, widely different; for so soft and balmy was it, that, had all his former Blows been Stabs, it would for some Minutes have prevented his feeling their Smart.
The Company now moved backwards, and soon arrived where Thwackum had got Mr. Blifil again on his Legs. Here we cannot suppress a pious Wish, that all Quarrels were to be decided by those Weapons only, with which Nature, knowing what is proper for us, hath supplied us; and that cold Iron was to be used in digging no Bowels, but those of the Earth. Then would War, the Pastime of Monarchs, be almost inoffensive, and Battles between great Armies might be fought at the particular Desire of several Ladies of Quality; who, together with the Kings themselves, might be actual Spectators of the Conflict. Then might the Field be this Moment well strewed with human Carcasses, and the next, the dead Men, or infinitely the greatest Part of them, might get up, like Mr. Bayes’s Troops, and march off either at the Sound of a Drum or Fiddle, as should be previously agreed on.2
I would avoid, if possible, treating this Matter ludicrously, lest grave Men and Politicians, whom I know to be offended at a Jest, may cry Pish at it; but, in reality, might not a Battle be as well decided by the greater Number of broken Heads, bloody Noses, and black Eyes, as by the greater Heaps of mangled and murdered human Bodies? Might not Towns be contended for in the same manner? Indeed, this may be thought too detrimental a Scheme to the French Interest, since they would thus lose the Advantage they have over other Nations, in the Superiority of their Engineers: But when I consider the Gallantry and Generosity of that People, I am persuaded they would never decline putting themselves upon a Par with their Adversary; or, as the Phrase is, making themselves his Match.
But such Reformations are rather to be wished than hoped for: I shall content myself, therefore, with this short Hint, and return to my Narrative.
Western began now to enquire into the original
Rise of this Quarrel. To which neither Blifil nor Jones gave any Answer; but Thwackum said surlily, ‘I believe, the Cause is not far off; if you beat the Bushes well, you may find her.’ ‘Find her!’ replied Western, ‘what, have you been fighting for a Wench?’ ‘Ask the Gentleman in his Wastecoat there,’ said Thwackum, ‘he best knows.’ ‘Nay, then,’ cries Western, ‘it is a Wench certainly—Ay, Tom, Tom; thou art a liquorish Dog———but come, Gentlemen, be all Friends, and go home with me, and make final Peace over a Bottle.’ ‘I ask your Pardon, Sir,’ says Thwackum, ‘it is no such slight Matter for a Man of my Character to be thus injuriously treated, and buffeted by a Boy; only because I would have done my Duty, in endeavouring to detect and bring to Justice a wanton Harlot; but, indeed, the principal Fault lies in Mr. Allworthy and yourself: For, if you put the Laws in Execution, as you ought to do, you will soon rid the Country of these Vermin.’
‘I would as soon rid the Country of Foxes,’ cries Western. ‘I think we ought to encourage the recruiting those Numbers which we are every Day losing in the War:3 But where is she?——Prithee, Tom, shew me.’ He then began to beat about, in the same Language, and in the same Manner, as if he had been beating for a Hare, and at last cried out, ‘Soho! Puss is not far off. Here’s her Form, upon my Soul; I believe I may cry stole away.’ And indeed so he might, for he had now discovered the Place whence the poor Girl had, at the Beginning of the Fray, stolen away, upon as many Feet as a Hare generally uses in travelling.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 32