The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  ‘For these Reasons, my best Neighbour, as I see the Inclinations of this young Lady are most unhappily averse to my Nephew, I must decline any further Thoughts of the Honour you intended him, tho’ I assure you I shall always retain the most grateful Sense of it.’

  ‘Well, Sir,’ said Western, (the Froth bursting forth from his Lips the Moment they were uncorked) ‘you cannot say but I have heard you out, and now I expect you’ll hear me; and if I don’t answer every Word on’t, why then I’ll consent to gee the Matter up. First then I desire you to answer me one Question, Did not I beget her? Did not I beget her? answer me that. They say indeed it is a wise Father that knows his own Child; but I am sure I have the best Title to her, for I bred her up. But I believe you will allow me to be her Father, and if I be, am I not to govern my own Child? I ask you that, am I not to govern my own Child? And if I am to govern her in other Matters, surely I am to govern her in this which concerns her most. And what am I desiring all this while? Am I desiring her to do any Thing for me? To give me any Thing? — Zu much on t’other Side, that I am only desiring her to take away half my Estate now, and t’other half when I die. Well, and what is it all vor? Why is unt it to make her happy? It’s enough to make one mad to hear Volks talk; if I was going to marry myself, then she would ha Reason to cry and to blubber; but, on the contrary, han’t I offered to bind down my Land in zuch a Manner, that I could not marry if I wou’d, seeing as narro’ Woman upon Earth would ha me. What the Devil in Hell can I do more? I contribute to her Damnation! — Zounds! I’d zee all the World d — d bevore her little Vinger should be hurt. Indeed, Mr. Allworthy, you must excuse me, but I am surprized to hear you talk in zuch a Manner, and I must say, take it how you will, that I thought you had more Sense.’

  Allworthy resented this Reflection only with a Smile; nor could he, if he would have endeavoured it, have conveyed into that Smile any Mixture of Malice or Contempt. His Smiles at Folly were indeed such as we may suppose the Angels bestow on the Absurdities of Mankind.

  Blifil now desired to be permitted to speak a few Words. ‘As to using any Violence on the young Lady, I am sure I shall never consent to it. My Conscience will not permit me to use Violence on any one, much less on a Lady for whom, however cruel she is to me, I shall always preserve the purest and sincerest Affection; but yet I have read, that Women are seldom proof against Perseverance. Why may I not hope then by such Perseverance at last to gain those Inclinations, in which for the future I shall, perhaps, have no Rival; for as for this Lord, Mr. Western is so kind to prefer me to him; and sure, Sir, you will not deny but that a Parent hath at least a negative Voice in these Matters; nay, I have heard this very young Lady herself say so more than once, and declare, that she thought Children inexcuseable who married in direct Opposition to the Will of their Parents. Besides, though the other Ladies of the Family seem to favour the Pretentions of my Lord, I do not find the Lady herself is inclined to give him any Countenance; alas! I am too well assured she is not; I am too sensible that wickedest of Men remains uppermost in her Heart.’

  ‘Ay, ay, so he does,’ cries Western.

  ‘But surely,’ says Blifil, ‘when she hears of this Murder which he hath committed, if the Law should spare his Life’ —

  ‘What’s that?’ cries Western, ‘Murder! hath he committed a Murder, and is there any Hopes of seeing him hanged?——Tol de rol, tol lol de rol.’ Here he fell a singing and capering about the Room.

  ‘Child,’ says Allworthy, ‘this unhappy Passion of yours distresses me beyond Measure. I heartily pity you, and would do every fair Thing to promote your Success.’

  ‘I desire no more,’ cries Blifil, ‘I am convinced my dear Uncle hath a better Opinion of me than to think that I myself wou’d accept of more.’

  ‘Lookee,’ says Allworthy, ‘you have my Leave to write, to visit, if she will permit it, — but I insist on no Thoughts of Violence. I will have no Confinement, nothing of that Kind attempted.’

  ‘Well, well,’ cries the Squire, ‘nothing of that Kind shall be attempted; we will try a little longer what fair Means will effect; and if this Fellow be but hanged out of the Way—Tol lol de rol. I never heard better News in my Life; I warrant every Thing goes to my Mind.—Do, prithee, dear Allworthy, come and dine with me at the Hercules Pillars: I have bespoke a Shoulder of Mutton roasted, and a Spare-rib of Pork, and a Fowl and Egg-Sauce. There will be Nobody but ourselves, unless we have a Mind to have the Landlord; for I have sent Parson Supple down to Basingstoke after my Tobacco Box, which I left at an Inn there, and I would not lose it for the World; for it is an old Acquaintance of above Twenty Years standing. I can tell you Landlord is a vast comical Bitch, you will like un hugely.’

  Mr. Allworthy at last agreed to this Invitation, and soon after the Squire went off, singing and capering at the Hopes of seeing the speedy tragical End of poor Jones.

  When he was gone, Mr. Allworthy resumed the aforesaid Subject with much Gravity. He told his Nephew, ‘he wished with all his Heart he would endeavour to conquer a Passion, in which I cannot,’ says he, ‘flatter you with any Hopes of succeeding. It is certainly a vulgar Error, that Aversion in a Woman may be conquered by Perseverance. Indifference may, perhaps, sometimes yield to it; but the usual Triumphs gained by Perseverance in a Lover, are over Caprice, Prudence, Affectation, and often an exorbitant Degree of Levity, which excites Women not over-warm in their Constitutions, to indulge their Vanity by prolonging the Time of Courtship, even when they are well-enough pleased with the Object, and resolve (if they ever resolve at all) to make him a very pitiful Amends in the End. But a fixed Dislike, as I am afraid this is, will rather gather Strength, than be conquered by Time. Besides, my Dear, I have another Apprehension which you must excuse. I am afraid this Passion which you have for this fine young Creature, hath her beautiful Person too much for its Object, and is unworthy of the Name of that Love, which is the only Foundation of matrimonial Felicity. To admire, to like, and to long for the Possession of a beautiful Woman, without any Regard to her Sentiments towards us, is, I am afraid, too natural: But Love, I believe, is the Child of Love only; at least, I am pretty confident, that to love the Creature who we are assured hates us, is not in human Nature. Examine your Heart, therefore, thoroughly, my good Boy, and if, upon Examination, you have but the least Suspicion of this Kind, I am sure your own Virtue and Religion will impel you to drive so vicious a Passion from your Heart, and your good Sense will soon enable you to do it without Pain.’

  The Reader may pretty well guess Blifil’s Answer; but if he should be at a Loss, we are not, at present, at Leisure to satisfy him, as our History now hastens on to Matters of higher Importance, and we can no longer bear to be absent from Sophia.

  CHAPTER IV.

  An extraordinary Scene between Sophia and her Aunt.

  The lowing Heifer, and the bleating Ewe in Herds and Flocks, may ramble safe and unregarded through the Pastures. These are, indeed, hereafter doomed to be the Prey of Man; yet many Years are they suffered to enjoy their Liberty undisturbed. But if a plump Doe be discovered to have escaped from the Forest, and to repose herself in some Field or Grove, the whole Parish is presently alarmed, every Man is ready to set his Dogs after her; and if she is preserved from the rest by the good Squire, it is only that he may secure her for his own eating.

  I have often considered a very fine young Woman of Fortune and Fashion, when first found strayed from the Pale of her Nursery, to be in pretty much the same Situation with this Doe. The Town is immediately in an Uproar, she is hunted from Park to Play, from Court to Assembly, from Assembly to her own Chamber, and rarely escapes a single Season from the Jaws of some Devourer or other: For if her Friends protect her from some, it is only to deliver her over to one of their own chusing, often more disagreeable to her than any of the rest: While whole Herds or Flocks of other Women securely, and scarce regarded, traverse the Park, the Play, the Opera, and the Assembly; and though, for the most Part at least, they are at last devoured, yet for a lon
g Time do they wanton in Liberty, without Disturbance or Controul.

  Of all these Paragons, none ever tasted more of this Persecution than poor Sophia. Her ill Stars were not contented with all that she had suffered on Account of Blifil, they now raised her another Pursuer, who seemed likely to torment her no less than the other had done. For though her Aunt was less violent, she was no less assiduous in teazing her, than her Father had been before.

  The Servants were no sooner departed after Dinner, than Mrs. Western, who had opened the Matter to Sophia, informed her, ‘That she expected his Lordship that very Afternoon, and intended to take the first Opportunity of leaving her alone with him.’ ‘If you do, Madam,’ answered Sophia, with some Spirit, ‘I shall take the first Opportunity of leaving him by himself.’ ‘How! Madam!’ cries the Aunt; ‘is this the Return you make me for my Kindness, in relieving you from your Confinement at your Father’s?’ ‘You know, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘the Cause of that Confinement was a Refusal to comply with my Father, in accepting a Man I detested; and will my dear Aunt, who hath relieved me from that Distress, involve me in another equally bad?’ ‘And do you think then, Madam,’ answered Mrs. Western, ‘that there is no Difference between my Lord Fellamar, and Mr. Blifil?’ ‘Very little, in my Opinion,’ cries Sophia; ‘and if I must be condemned to one, I would certainly have the Merit of sacrificing myself to my Father’s Pleasure.’ ‘Then my Pleasure, I find,’ said the Aunt, ‘hath very little Weight with you; but that Consideration shall not move me. I act from nobler Motives. The View of aggrandizing my Family, of ennobling yourself, is what I proceed upon. Have you no Sense of Ambition? Are there no Charms in the Thoughts of having a Coronet on your Coach!’1 ‘None, upon my Honour,’ said Sophia. ‘A Pincushion upon my Coach would please me just as well.’ ‘Never mention Honour,’ cries the Aunt. ‘It becomes not the Mouth of such a Wretch. I am sorry, Niece, you force me to use these Words; but I cannot bear your groveling Temper; you have none of the Blood of the Westerns in you. But however mean and base your own Ideas are, you shall bring no Imputation on mine. I will never suffer the World to say of me, that I encouraged you in refusing one of the best Matches in England; a Match which, besides its Advantage in Fortune, would do Honour to almost any Family, and hath indeed, in Title, the Advantage of ours.’ ‘Surely,’ says Sophia, ‘I am born deficient, and have not the Senses with which other People are blessed: There must be certainly some Sense which can relish the Delights of Sound and Show, which I have not: For surely Mankind would not labour so much, nor sacrifice so much for the obtaining, nor would they be so elate and proud with possessing, what appeared to them, as it doth to me, the most insignificant of all Trifles.’

  ‘No, no, Miss,’ cries the Aunt; ‘you are born with as many Senses as other People; but I assure you, you are not born with a sufficient Understanding to make a Fool of me, or to expose my Conduct to the World. So I declare this to you upon my Word, and you know, I believe, how fixed my Resolutions are, unless you agree to see his Lordship this Afternoon, I will, with my own Hands, deliver you To-morrow Morning to my Brother, and will never henceforth interfere with you nor see your Face again.’ Sophia stood a few Moments silent after this Speech, which was uttered in a most angry and peremptory Tone; and then bursting into Tears, she cry’d, ‘Do with me, Madam, whatever you please; I am the most miserable, undone Wretch upon Earth; if my dear Aunt forsakes me, where shall I look for a Protector?’ — ‘My dear Niece,’ cries she, ‘you will have a very good Protector in his Lordship; a Protector, whom nothing but a Hankering after that vile Fellow Jones can make you decline.’ ‘Indeed, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘you wrong me. How can you imagine, after what you have shewn me, if I had ever any such Thoughts, that I should not banish them for ever. If it will satisfy you, I will receive the Sacrament upon it, never to see his Face again.’ — ‘But Child, dear Child,’ said the Aunt, ‘be reasonable: Can you invent a single Objection?’——‘I have already, I think, told you a sufficient Objection,’ answered Sophia.——‘What,’ cries the Aunt; ‘I remember none.’ ‘Sure, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘I told you he had used me in the rudest and vilest Manner.’ ‘Indeed, Child,’ answered she, ‘I never heard you, or did not understand you:—But what do you mean by this rude vile Manner?’ ‘Indeed, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘I am almost ashamed to tell you. He caught me in his Arms, pulled me down upon the Settee, and thrust his Hand into my Bosom, and kissed it with such Violence, that I have the Mark upon my left Breast at this Moment.’——‘Indeed!’ said Mrs. Western. ‘Yes indeed, Madam,’ answered Sophia; ‘my Father luckily came in at that Instant, or Heaven knows what Rudeness he intended to have proceeded to.’ ‘I am astonished and confounded,’ cries the Aunt. ‘No Woman of the Name of Western hath been ever treated so, since we were a Family. I would have torn the Eyes of a Prince out, if he had attempted such Freedoms with me. It is impossible: Sure, Sophia, you must invent this to raise my Indignation against him.’ ‘I hope, Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘you have too good an Opinion of me, to imagine me capable of telling an Untruth. Upon my Soul it is true.’ ‘I should have stabbed him to the Heart had I been present,’ returned the Aunt. ‘Yet surely he could have no dishonourable Design: It is impossible; he durst not: Besides, his Proposals shew he had not; for they are not only honourable but generous. I don’t know; the Age allows too great Freedoms. A distant Salute is all I would have allowed before the Ceremony. I have had Lovers formerly, not so long ago neither; several Lovers, tho’ I never would consent to Marriage, and I never encouraged the least Freedom. It is a foolish Custom, and what I never would agree to. No Man kissed more of me than my Cheek. It is as much as one can bring oneself to give Lips up to a Husband; and, indeed, could I ever have been persuaded to marry, I believe I should not have soon been brought to endure so much.’ ‘You will pardon me, dear Madam,’ said Sophia, ‘if I make one Observation: You own you have had many Lovers, and the World knows it, even if you should deny it. You refused them all, and I am convinced one Coronet at least among them.’ ‘You say true, dear Sophy,’ answered she; ‘I had once the Offer of a Title.’ ‘Why then,’ said Sophia, ‘will you not suffer me to refuse this once?’ ‘It is true, Child,’ said she, ‘I have refused the Offer of a Title; but it was not so good an Offer; that is, not so very, very good an Offer.’——‘Yes, Madam,’ said Sophia; ‘but you have had very great Proposals from Men of vast Fortunes. It was not the first, nor the second, nor the third advantageous Match that offered itself.’ ‘I own it was not,’ said she. ‘Well, Madam,’ continued Sophia, ‘and why may not I expect to have a second perhaps better than this? You are now but a young Woman, and I am convinced would not promise to yield to the first Lover of Fortune, nay, or of Title too. I am a very young Woman, and sure I need not despair.’ ‘Well, my dear, dear Sophy,’ cries the Aunt, ‘what would you have me say?’ ‘Why I only beg that I may not be left alone, at least this Evening: Grant me that, and I will submit, if you think, after what is past, I ought to see him in your Company.’ ‘Well, I will grant it,’ cries the Aunt. ‘Sophy, you know I love you, and can deny you nothing. You know the Easiness of my Nature; I have not always been so easy. I have been formerly thought cruel; by the Men I mean. I was called the cruel Parthenissa. I have broke many a Window that has had Verses to the cruel Parthenissa in it. 2Sophy, I was never so handsome as you, and yet I had something of you formerly. I am a little altered. Kingdoms and States, as Tully Cicero says in his Epistles, undergo Alterations, and so must the human Form.’3 Thus run she on for near half an Hour upon herself, and her Conquests and her Cruelty, ’till the Arrival of my Lord, who, after a most tedious Visit, during which Mrs. Western never once offered to leave the Room, retired, not much more satisfied with the Aunt than with the Niece. For Sophia had brought her Aunt into so excellent a Temper, that she consented to almost every Thing her Niece said; and agreed, that a little distant Behaviour might not be improper to so forward a Lover.

  Thus Sophia by a little well directed Flattery, for whic
h surely none will blame her, obtained a little Ease for herself, and, at least, put off the evil Day. And now we have seen our Heroine in a better Situation than she hath been for a long Time before, we will look a little after Mr. Jones, whom we left in the most deplorable Situation that can well be imagined.

  CHAPTER V.

  Mrs. Miller and Mr. Nightingale visit Jones

  in the Prison.

  When Mr. Allworthy and his Nephew went to meet Mr. Western, Mrs. Miller set forwards to her Son-in-law’s Lodgings, in order to acquaint him with the Accident which had befallen his Friend Jones; but he had known it long before from Partridge, (for Jones, when he left Mrs. Miller, had been furnished with a Room in the same House with Mr. Nightingale.) The good Woman found her Daughter under great Affliction on Account of Mr. Jones, whom having comforted as well as she could, she set forwards to the Gate-house, where she heard he was, and where Mr. Nightingale was arrived before her.