The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

Containing Three Days.

  CHAPTER I.

  Containing a Portion of Introductory Writing.

  When a Comic Writer hath made his principal Characters as happy as he can; or when a Tragic Writer hath brought them to the highest Pitch of human Misery, they both conclude their Business to be done, and that their Work is come to a Period.

  Had we been of the Tragic Complexion, the Reader must now allow we were very nearly arrived at this Period, since it would be difficult for the Devil, or any of his Representatives on Earth, to have contrived much greater Torments for poor Jones, than those in which we left him in the last Chapter; and as for Sophia, a good-natured Woman would hardly wish more Uneasiness to a Rival, than what she must at present be supposed to feel. What then remains to complete the Tragedy but a Murder or two, and a few moral Sentences.

  But to bring our Favourites out of their present Anguish and Distress, and to land them at last on the Shore of Happiness, seems a much harder Task; a Task indeed so hard that we do not undertake to execute it. In Regard to Sophia, it is more than probable, that we shall somewhere or other provide a good Husband for her in the End, either Blifil, or my Lord, or Somebody else; but as to poor Jones, such are the Calamities in which he is at present involved, owing to his Imprudence, by which if a Man doth not become a Felon to the World, he is at least a Felo de se; so destitute is he now of Friends, and so persecuted by Enemies, that we almost despair of bringing him to any Good; and if our Reader delights in seeing Executions, I think he ought not to lose any Time in taking a first Row at Tyburn.1

  This I faithfully promise, that notwithstanding any Affection, which we may be supposed to have for this Rogue, whom we have unfortunately made our Heroe, we will lend him none of that supernatural Assistance2 with which we are entrusted, upon Condition that we use it only on very important Occasions. If he doth not therefore find some natural Means of fairly extricating himself from all his Distresses, we will do no Violence to the Truth and Dignity of History for his Sake; for we had rather relate that he was hanged at Tyburn (which may very probably be the Case) than forfeit our Integrity, or shock the Faith of our Reader.

  In this the Ancients had a great Advantage over the Moderns. Their Mythology, which was at that Time more firmly believed by the Vulgar than any Religion is at present, gave them always an Opportunity of delivering a favourite Heroe. Their Deities were always ready at the Writer’s Elbow, to execute any of his Purposes; and the more extraordinary the Intervention was, the greater was the Surprize and Delight of the credulous Reader. Those Writers could with greater Ease have conveyed a Heroe from one Country to another, nay from one World to another, and have brought him back again, than a poor circumscribed Modern can deliver him from a Goal.

  The Arabians and Persians had an equal Advantage in writing their Tales from the Genii3 and Fairies, which they believe in as an Article of their Faith, upon the Authority of the Koran itself. But we have none of these Helps. To natural Means alone are we confined; let us try therefore what by these Means may be done for poor Jones; though, to confess the Truth, something whispers me in the Ear, that he doth not yet know the worst of his Fortune; and that a more shocking Piece of News than any he hath yet heard, remains for him in the unopened Leaves of Fate.

  CHAPTER II.

  The generous and grateful Behaviour of Mrs. Miller.

  Mr. Allworthy and Mrs. Miller were just sat down to Breakfast, when Blifil, who had gone out very early that Morning, returned to make one of the Company.

  He had not been long seated before he began as follows, ‘Good Lord! my dear Uncle, what do you think hath happened? I vow I am afraid of telling it you, for fear of shocking you with the Remembrance of ever having shewn any Kindness to such a Villain.’ ‘What is the Matter, Child,’ said the Uncle, ‘I fear I have shewn Kindness in my Life to the Unworthy more than once. But Charity doth not adopt the Vices of its Objects.’ ‘O, Sir,’ returned Blifil, ‘it is not without the secret Direction of Providence that you mention the Word Adoption. Your adopted Son, Sir, that Jones, that Wretch whom you nourished in your Bosom, hath proved one of the greatest Villains upon Earth.’ ‘By all that’s sacred ’tis false,’ cries Mrs. Miller. ‘Mr. Jones is no Villain. He is one of the worthiest Creatures breathing; and if any other Person had called him Villain, I would have thrown all this boiling Water in his Face.’ Mr. Allworthy looked very much amazed at this Behaviour. But she did not give him Leave to speak, before turning to him, she cry’d, ‘I hope you will not be angry with me; I would not offend you, Sir, for the World; but indeed I could not bear to hear him called so.’ ‘I must own, Madam,’ said Allworthy very gravely, ‘I am a little surprized to hear you so warmly defend a Fellow you do not know.’ ‘O I do know him, Mr. Allworthy,’ said she, ‘indeed I do; I should be the most ungrateful of all Wretches if I denied it. O he hath preserved me and my little Family; we have all Reason to bless him while we live. — And I pray Heaven to bless him, and turn the Hearts of his malicious Enemies. I know, I find, I see he hath such.’ ‘You surprize me, Madam, still more,’ said Allworthy, ‘sure you must mean some other. It is impossible you should have any such Obligations to the Man my Nephew mentions.’ ‘Too surely,’ answered she, ‘I have Obligations to him of the greatest and tenderest Kind. He hath been the Preserver of me and mine.— Believe me, Sir, he hath been abused, grossly abused to you; I know he hath, or you, whom I know to be all Goodness and Honour, would not, after the many kind and tender Things I have heard you say of this poor helpless Child, have so disdainfully called him Fellow. Indeed, my best of Friends, he deserves a kinder Appellation from you, had you heard the good, the kind, the grateful Things which I have heard him utter of you. He never mentions your Name but with a sort of Adoration. In this very Room I have seen him on his Knees, imploring all the Blessings of Heaven upon your Head. I do not love that Child there better than he loves you.’

  ‘I see, Sir, now,’ said Blifil, with one of those grinning Sneers with which the Devil marks his best Beloved, ‘Mrs. Miller really doth know him. I suppose you will find she is not the only one of your Acquaintance to whom he hath exposed you. As for my Character, I perceive by some Hints she hath thrown out, he hath been very free with it, but I forgive him.’ ‘And the Lord forgive you, Sir,’ says Mrs. Miller, ‘we have all Sins enough to stand in Need of his Forgiveness.’

  ‘Upon my Word, Mrs. Miller,’ said Allworthy, ‘I do not take this Behaviour of yours to my Nephew, kindly; and I do assure you as any Reflections which you cast upon him must come only from that wickedest of Men, they would only serve, if that were possible, to heighten my Resentment against him: For I must tell you, Mrs. Miller, the young Man who now stands before you, hath ever been the warmest Advocate for the ungrateful Wretch whose Cause you espouse. This, I think, when you hear it from my own Mouth, will make you wonder at so much Baseness and Ingratitude.’

  ‘You are deceived, Sir,’ answered Mrs. Miller, ‘if they were the last Words which were to issue from my Lips, I would say you are deceived; and I once more repeat it, the Lord forgive those who have deceived you. I do not pretend to say the young Man is without Faults; but they are all the Faults of Wildness and of Youth; Faults which he may, nay which I am certain he will relinquish, and if he should not, they are vastly over-balanced by one of the most humane tender honest Hearts that ever Man was blest with.’

  ‘Indeed, Mrs. Miller,’ said Allworthy, ‘had this been related of you, I should not have believed it.’ ‘Indeed, Sir,’ answered she, ‘you will believe every Thing I have said, I am sure you will; and when you have heard the Story which I shall tell you, (for I will tell all) you will be so far from being offended, that you will own (I know your Justice so well) that I must have been the most despicable and most ungrateful of Wretches, if I had acted any other Part than I have.’

  ‘Well, Madam,’ said Allworthy, ‘I shall be very glad to hear any good Excuse for a Behaviour which I must confess, I think wants an Excuse. And now, Madam, will you be pleased to le
t my Nephew proceed in his Story without Interruption. He would not have introduced a Matter of slight Consequence with such a Preface. Perhaps even this Story will cure you of your Mistake.’

  Mrs. Miller gave Tokens of Submission, and then Mr. Blifil began thus. ‘I am sure, Sir, if you don’t think proper to resent the ill Usage of Mrs. Miller, I shall easily forgive what affects me only. I think your Goodness hath not deserved this Indignity at her Hands.’ ‘Well, Child,’ said Allworthy, ‘but what is this new Instance? What hath he done of late?’ ‘What?’ cries Blifil, ‘notwithstanding all Mrs. Miller hath said, I am very sorry to relate, and what you should never have heard from me, had it not been a Matter impossible to conceal from the whole World. In short, he hath killed a Man; I will not say murdered,——for perhaps it may not be so construed in Law, and I hope the best for his Sake.’

  Allworthy looked shocked, and blessed himself; and then turning to Mrs. Miller, he cried, ‘Well, Madam, what say you now?’

  ‘Why, I say, Sir,’ answered she, ‘that I never was more concerned at any Thing in my Life; but, if the Fact be true, I am convinced the Man, whoever he is, was in Fault. Heaven knows there are many Villains in this Town, who make it their Business to provoke young Gentlemen. Nothing but the greatest Provocation could have tempted him; for of all the Gentlemen I ever had in my House, I never saw one so gentle, or so sweet-tempered. He was beloved by every one in the House, and every one who came near it.’

  While she was thus running on, a violent Knocking at the Door interrupted their Conversation, and prevented her from proceeding further or from receiving any Answer; for as she concluded this was a Visiter to Mr. Allworthy, she hastily retired, taking with her her little Girl, whose Eyes were all over blubbered at the melancholy News she heard of Jones, who used to call her his little Wife, and not only gave her many Play-things, but spent whole Hours in playing with her himself.

  Some Readers may perhaps be pleased with these minute Circumstances, in relating of which we follow the Example of Plutarch, one of the best of our Brother Historians;1 and others to whom they may appear trivial, will, we hope, at least pardon them, as we are never prolix on such Occasions.

  CHAPTER III.

  The Arrival of Mr. Western, with some Matters concerning the Paternal Authority.

  Mrs. Miller had not long left the Room, when Mr. Western entered; but not before a small wrangling Bout had pass’d between him and his Chairmen; for the Fellows who had taken up their Burden at the Hercules Pillars, had conceived no Hopes of having any future good Customer in the Squire; and they were moreover farther encouraged by his Generosity, (for he had given them of his own Accord Sixpence more than their Fare;) they therefore very boldly demanded another Shilling, which so provoked the Squire, that he not only bestowed many hearty Curses on them at the Door, but retained his Anger after he came into the Room; swearing that all the Londoners were like the Court, and thought of nothing but plundering Country Gentlemen. ‘D — n me, says he, if I won’t walk in the Rain rather than get into one of their Handbarrows again. They have jolted me more in a Mile than Brown Bess would in a long Fox Chace.’

  When his Wrath on this Occasion was a little appeased, he resumed the same passionate Tone on another. ‘There,’ says he, ‘there is fine Business forwards now. The Hounds have changed at last, and when we imagined we had a Fox to deal with, Od rat-it, it turns out to be a Badger at last.’

  ‘Pray, my good Neighbour,’ said Allworthy, ‘drop your Metaphors, and speak a little plainer.’ ‘Why then,’ says the Squire, ‘to tell you plainly, we have been all this Time afraid of a Son of a Whore of a Bastard of Somebody’s, I don’t know who’s, not I——And now here is a confounded Son of a Whore of a Lord, who may be a Bastard too for what I know or care, for he shall never have a Daughter of mine by my Consent. They have beggared the Nation, but they shall never beggar me. My Land shall never be sent over to Hannover.’

  ‘You surprize me much, my good Friend,’ said Allworthy. ‘Why, zounds! I am surprized myself,’ answered the Squire, ‘I went to zee Sister Western last Night, according to her own Appointment, and there I was a had into a whole Room-full of Women. — There was my Lady Cousin Bellaston, and my Lady Betty, and my Lady Catharine, and my Lady I don’t know who; d — n me, if ever you catch me among such a Kennel of Hoop-petticoat B — s. D — n me, I’d rather be run by my own Dogs, as one Acton was, that the Story Book says was turned into a Hare; and his own Dogs kill’d un, and eat un.1 Od-rabbet-it, no Mortal was ever run in such a manner; if I dodged one Way, one had me, if I offered to clap back,2 another snap’d me. O! certainly one of the greatest Matches in England, says one Cousin (here he attempted to mimic them); “A very advantageous Offer indeed,” cries another Cousin, (for you must know they be all my Cousins, thof I never zeed half oum before.) “Surely,” says that fat a — se B —, my Lady Bellaston, “Cousin, you must be out of your Wits to think of refusing such an Offer.”’

  ‘Now I begin to understand,’ says Allworthy, ‘some Person hath made Proposals to Miss Western, which the Ladies of the Family approve, but is not to your Liking.’

  ‘My Liking!’ said Western, ‘how the Devil should it? I tell you it is a Lord, and those are always Volks whom you know I always resolved to have nothing to do with. Did unt I refuse a matter of vorty Years Purchase now for a Bit of Land, which one oum had a Mind to put into a Park, only because I would have no Dealings with Lords, and dost think I would marry my Daughter zu? Besides, ben’t I engaged to you, and did I ever go off any Bargain when I had promised?’

  ‘As to that Point, Neighbour,’ said Allworthy, ‘I entirely release you from any Engagement. No Contract can be binding between Parties who have not a full Power to make it at the Time, nor ever afterwards acquire the Power of fulfilling it.’

  ‘Slud! then,’ answered Western, ‘I tell you I have Power, and I will fulfil it. Come along with me directly to Doctors Commons,3 I will get a Licence; and I will go to Sister and take away the Wench by Force, and she shall ha un, or I will lock her up and keep her upon Bread and Water as long as she lives.’

  ‘Mr. Western,’ said Allworthy, ‘shall I beg you will hear my full Sentiments on this Matter?’ ‘Hear thee! ay to be sure, I will,’ answered he. ‘Why then, Sir,’ cries Allworthy, ‘I can truly say, without a Compliment either to you or the young Lady, that when this Match was proposed, I embraced it very readily and heartily, from my Regard to you both. An Alliance between two Families so nearly Neighbours, and between whom there had always existed so mutual an Intercourse and good Harmony, I thought a most desirable Event; and with Regard to the young Lady, not only the concurrent Opinion of all who knew her, but my own Observation assured me that she would be an inestimable Treasure to a good Husband. I shall say nothing of her personal Qualifications, which certainly are admirable; her Good-nature, her charitable Disposition, her Modesty are too well known to need any Panegyric: But she hath one Quality which existed in a high Degree in that best of Women, who is now one of the first of Angels, which as it is not of a glaring Kind, more commonly escapes Observation; so little indeed is it remarked, that I want a Word to express it. I must use Negatives on this Occasion. I never heard any thing of Pertness, or what is called Repartee out of her Mouth; no Pretence to Wit, much less to that Kind of Wisdom, which is the Result only of great Learning and Experience; the Affectation of which, in a young Woman, is as absurd as any of the Affectations of an Ape. No dictatorial Sentiments, no judicial Opinions, no profound Criticisms. Whenever I have seen her in the Company of Men, she hath been all Attention, with the Modesty of a Learner, not the Forwardness of a Teacher. You’ll pardon me for it, but I once, to try her only, desired her Opinion on a Point which was controverted between Mr. Thwackum and Mr. Square. To which she answered with much Sweetness, “You will pardon me, good Mr. Allworthy, I am sure you cannot in Earnest think me capable of deciding any Point in which two such Gentlemen disagree.” Thwackum and Square, who both alike thought themselves sure of a favou
rable Decision, seconded my Request. She answered with the same good Humour, “I must absolutely be excused; for I will affront neither so much, as to give my Judgment on his Side.” Indeed, she always shewed the highest Deference to the Understandings of Men; a Quality absolutely essential to the making a good Wife. I shall only add, that as she is most apparently void of all Affectation, this Deference must be certainly real.’

  Here Blifil sighed bitterly; upon which Western, whose Eyes were full of Tears at the Praise of Sophia, blubbered out, ‘Don’t be Chicken-hearted, for shat ha her, d — n me, shat ha her, if she was twenty Times as good.’

  ‘Remember your Promise, Sir,’ cried Allworthy, ‘I was not to be interrupted.’ ‘Well, shat unt,’ answered the Squire, ‘I won’t speak another Word.’

  ‘Now, my good Friend,’ continued Allworthy, ‘I have dwelt so long on the Merit of this young Lady, partly as I really am in Love with her Character, and partly that Fortune (for the Match in that Light is really advantageous on my Nephew’s Side) might not be imagined to be my principal View in having so eagerly embraced the Proposal. Indeed I heartily wished to receive so great a Jewel into my Family; but tho’ I may wish for many good Things, I would not therefore steal them, or be guilty of any Violence or Injustice to possess myself of them. Now to force a Woman into a Marriage contrary to her Consent or Approbation, is an Act of such Injustice and Oppression, that I wish the Laws of our Country could restrain it; but a good Conscience is never lawless in the worst-regulated State, and will provide those Laws for itself, which the Neglect of Legislators hath forgotten to supply. This is surely a Case of that Kind; for is it not cruel, nay impious, to force a Woman into that State against her Will; for her Behaviour in which she is to be accountable to the highest and most dreadful Court of Judicature, and to answer at the Peril of her Soul? To discharge the Matrimonial Duties in an adequate Manner is no easy Task, and shall we lay this Burthen upon a Woman, while we at the same Time deprive her of all that Assistance which may enable her to undergo it? Shall we tear her very Heart from her, while we enjoin her Duties to which a whole Heart is scarce equal. I must speak very plainly here, I think Parents who act in this Manner are Accessaries to all the Guilt which their Children afterwards incur, and of Course must, before a just Judge, expect to partake of their Punishment; but if they could avoid this, good Heaven! is there a Soul who can bear the Thought of having contributed to the Damnation of his Child?