History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

by Henry Fielding

  Chapter vi.

  By what means the squire came to discover his daughter.

  Though the reader, in many histories, is obliged to digest much moreunaccountable appearances than this of Mr Western, without anysatisfaction at all; yet, as we dearly love to oblige him whenever itis in our power, we shall now proceed to shew by what method thesquire discovered where his daughter was.

  In the third chapter, then, of the preceding book, we gave a hint (forit is not our custom to unfold at any time more than is necessary forthe occasion) that Mrs Fitzpatrick, who was very desirous ofreconciling her uncle and aunt Western, thought she had a probableopportunity, by the service of preserving Sophia from committing thesame crime which had drawn on herself the anger of her family. Aftermuch deliberation, therefore, she resolved to inform her aunt Westernwhere her cousin was, and accordingly she writ the following letter,which we shall give the reader at length, for more reasons than one.

  "HONOURED MADAM,

  "The occasion of my writing this will perhaps make a letter of mine agreeable to my dear aunt, for the sake of one of her nieces, though I have little reason to hope it will be so on the account of another.

  "Without more apology, as I was coming to throw my unhappy self at your feet, I met, by the strangest accident in the world, my cousin Sophy, whose history you are better acquainted with than myself, though, alas! I know infinitely too much; enough indeed to satisfy me, that unless she is immediately prevented, she is in danger of running into the same fatal mischief, which, by foolishly and ignorantly refusing your most wise and prudent advice, I have unfortunately brought on myself.

  "In short, I have seen the man, nay, I was most part of yesterday in his company, and a charming young fellow I promise you he is. By what accident he came acquainted with me is too tedious to tell you now; but I have this morning changed my lodgings to avoid him, lest he should by my means discover my cousin; for he doth not yet know where she is, and it is adviseable he should not, till my uncle hath secured her.----No time therefore is to be lost; and I need only inform you, that she is now with Lady Bellaston, whom I have seen, and who hath, I find, a design of concealing her from her family. You know, madam, she is a strange woman; but nothing could misbecome me more than to presume to give any hint to one of your great understanding and great knowledge of the world, besides barely informing you of the matter of fact.

  "I hope, madam, the care which I have shewn on this occasion for the good of my family will recommend me again to the favour of a lady who hath always exerted so much zeal for the honour and true interest of us all; and that it may be a means of restoring me to your friendship, which hath made so great a part of my former, and is so necessary to my future happiness.

  "I am, with the utmost respect, honoured madam, your most dutiful obliged niece, and most obedient humble servant, HARRIET FITZPATRICK."

  Mrs Western was now at her brother's house, where she had resided eversince the flight of Sophia, in order to administer comfort to the poorsquire in his affliction. Of this comfort, which she doled out to himin daily portions, we have formerly given a specimen.

  She was now standing with her back to the fire, and, with a pinch ofsnuff in her hand, was dealing forth this daily allowance of comfortto the squire, while he smoaked his afternoon pipe, when she receivedthe above letter; which she had no sooner read than she delivered itto him, saying, "There, sir, there is an account of your lost sheep.Fortune hath again restored her to you, and if you will be governed bymy advice, it is possible you may yet preserve her."

  The squire had no sooner read the letter than he leaped from hischair, threw his pipe into the fire, and gave a loud huzza for joy. Hethen summoned his servants, called for his boots, and ordered theChevalier and several other horses to be saddled, and that parsonSupple should be immediately sent for. Having done this, he turned tohis sister, caught her in his arms, and gave her a close embrace,saying, "Zounds! you don't seem pleased; one would imagine you wassorry I have found the girl."

  "Brother," answered she, "the deepest politicians, who see to thebottom, discover often a very different aspect of affairs, from whatswims on the surface. It is true, indeed, things do look rather lessdesperate than they did formerly in Holland, when Lewis the Fourteenthwas at the gates of Amsterdam; but there is a delicacy required inthis matter, which you will pardon me, brother, if I suspect you want.There is a decorum to be used with a woman of figure, such as LadyBellaston, brother, which requires a knowledge of the world, superior,I am afraid, to yours."

  "Sister," cries the squire, "I know you have no opinion of my parts;but I'll shew you on this occasion who is a fool. Knowledge, quotha! Ihave not been in the country so long without having some knowledge ofwarrants and the law of the land. I know I may take my own wherever Ican find it. Shew me my own daughter, and if I don't know how to comeat her, I'll suffer you to call me a fool as long as I live. There bejustices of peace in London, as well as in other places."

  "I protest," cries she, "you make me tremble for the event of thismatter, which, if you will proceed by my advice, you may bring to sogood an issue. Do you really imagine, brother, that the house of awoman of figure is to be attacked by warrants and brutal justices ofthe peace? I will inform you how to proceed. As soon as you arrive intown, and have got yourself into a decent dress (for indeed, brother,you have none at present fit to appear in), you must send yourcompliments to Lady Bellaston, and desire leave to wait on her. Whenyou are admitted to her presence, as you certainly will be, and havetold her your story, and have made proper use of my name (for I thinkyou just know one another only by sight, though you are relations), Iam confident she will withdraw her protection from my niece, who hathcertainly imposed upon her. This is the only method.--Justices ofpeace, indeed! do you imagine any such event can arrive to a woman offigure in a civilised nation?"

  "D--n their figures," cries the squire; "a pretty civilised nation,truly, where women are above the law. And what must I stand sending aparcel of compliments to a confounded whore, that keeps away adaughter from her own natural father? I tell you, sister, I am not soignorant as you think me----I know you would have women above the law,but it is all a lye; I heard his lordship say at size, that no one isabove the law. But this of yours is Hanover law, I suppose."

  "Mr Western," said she, "I think you daily improve in ignorance.----Iprotest you are grown an arrant bear."

  "No more a bear than yourself, sister Western," said thesquire.--"Pox! you may talk of your civility an you will, I am sureyou never shew any to me. I am no bear, no, nor no dog neither, thoughI know somebody, that is something that begins with a b; but pox! Iwill show you I have got more good manners than some folks."

  "Mr Western," answered the lady, "you may say what you please, _jevous mesprise de tout mon coeur._ I shall not therefore beangry.----Besides, as my cousin, with that odious Irish name, justlysays, I have that regard for the honour and true interest of myfamily, and that concern for my niece, who is a part of it, that Ihave resolved to go to town myself upon this occasion; for indeed,indeed, brother, you are not a fit minister to be employed at a politecourt.--Greenland--Greenland should always be the scene of thetramontane negociation."

  "I thank Heaven," cries the squire, "I don't understand you now. Youare got to your Hanoverian linguo. However, I'll shew you I scorn tobe behind-hand in civility with you; and as you are not angry for whatI have said, so I am not angry for what you have said. Indeed I havealways thought it a folly for relations to quarrel; and if they do nowand then give a hasty word, why, people should give and take; for mypart, I never bear malice; and I take it very kind of you to go up toLondon; for I never was there but twice in my life, and then I did notstay above a fortnight at a time, and to be sure I can't be expectedto know much of the streets and the folks in that time. I never deni
edthat you know'd all these matters better than I. For me to disputethat would be all as one as for you to dispute the management of apack of dogs, or the finding a hare sitting, with me."--"Which Ipromise you," says she, "I never will."--"Well, and I promise you,"returned he, "that I never will dispute the t'other."

  Here then a league was struck (to borrow a phrase from the lady)between the contending parties; and now the parson arriving, and thehorses being ready, the squire departed, having promised his sister tofollow her advice, and she prepared to follow him the next day.

  But having communicated these matters to the parson on the road, theyboth agreed that the prescribed formalities might very well bedispensed with; and the squire, having changed his mind, proceeded inthe manner we have already seen.

  Chapter vii.

  In which various misfortunes befel poor Jones.

  Affairs were in the aforesaid situation when Mrs Honour arrived at MrsMiller's, and called Jones out from the company, as we have beforeseen, with whom, when she found herself alone, she began as follows:--

  "O, my dear sir! how shall I get spirits to tell you; you are undone,sir, and my poor lady's undone, and I am undone." "Hath anythinghappened to Sophia?" cries Jones, staring like a madman. "All that isbad," cries Honour: "Oh, I shall never get such another lady! Oh thatI should ever live to see this day!" At these words Jones turned paleas ashes, trembled, and stammered; but Honour went on--"O! Mr Jones, Ihave lost my lady for ever." "How? what! for Heaven's sake, tell me.O, my dear Sophia!" "You may well call her so," said Honour; "she wasthe dearest lady to me. I shall never have such anotherplace."----"D--n your place!" cries Jones; "where is--what--what isbecome of my Sophia?" "Ay, to be sure," cries she, "servants may bed--n'd. It signifies nothing what becomes of them, though they areturned away, and ruined ever so much. To be sure they are not fleshand blood like other people. No, to be sure, it signifies nothing whatbecomes of them." "If you have any pity, any compassion," cries Jones,"I beg you will instantly tell me what hath happened to Sophia?" "Tobe sure, I have more pity for you than you have for me," answeredHonour; "I don't d--n you because you have lost the sweetest lady inthe world. To be sure you are worthy to be pitied, and I am worthy tobe pitied too: for, to be sure, if ever there was a good mistress----""What hath happened?" cries Jones, in almost a raving fit."What?--What?" said Honour: "Why, the worst that could have happenedboth for you and for me.--Her father is come to town, and hath carriedher away from us both." Here Jones fell on his knees in thanksgivingthat it was no worse. "No worse!" repeated Honour; "what could beworse for either of us? He carried her off, swearing she should marryMr Blifil; that's for your comfort; and, for poor me, I am turned outof doors." "Indeed, Mrs Honour," answered Jones, "you frightened meout of my wits. I imagined some most dreadful sudden accident hadhappened to Sophia; something, compared to which, even seeing hermarried to Blifil would be a trifle; but while there is life there arehopes, my dear Honour. Women in this land of liberty, cannot bemarried by actual brutal force." "To be sure, sir," said she, "that'strue. There may be some hopes for you; but alack-a-day! what hopes arethere for poor me? And to be sure, sir, you must be sensible I sufferall this upon your account. All the quarrel the squire hath to me isfor taking your part, as I have done, against Mr Blifil." "Indeed, MrsHonour," answered he, "I am sensible of my obligations to you, andwill leave nothing in my power undone to make you amends." "Alas!sir," said she, "what can make a servant amends for the loss of oneplace but the getting another altogether as good?" "Do not despair,Mrs Honour," said Jones, "I hope to reinstate you again in the same.""Alack-a-day, sir," said she, "how can I flatter myself with suchhopes when I know it is a thing impossible? for the squire is so setagainst me: and yet, if you should ever have my lady, as to be sure Inow hopes heartily you will; for you are a generous, good-naturedgentleman; and I am sure you loves her, and to be sure she loves youas dearly as her own soul; it is a matter in vain to deny it; becauseas why, everybody, that is in the least acquainted with my lady, mustsee it; for, poor dear lady, she can't dissemble: and if two peoplewho loves one another a'n't happy, why who should be so? Happinessdon't always depend upon what people has; besides, my lady has enoughfor both. To be sure, therefore, as one may say, it would be all thepity in the world to keep two such loviers asunder; nay, I amconvinced, for my part, you will meet together at last; for, if it isto be, there is no preventing it. If a marriage is made in heaven, allthe justices of peace upon earth can't break it off. To be sure Iwishes that parson Supple had but a little more spirit, to tell thesquire of his wickedness in endeavouring to force his daughtercontrary to her liking; but then his whole dependance is on thesquire; and so the poor gentleman, though he is a very religious goodsort of man, and talks of the badness of such doings behind thesquire's back, yet he dares not say his soul is his own to his face.To be sure I never saw him make so bold as just now; I was afeard thesquire would have struck him. I would not have your honour bemelancholy, sir, nor despair; things may go better, as long as you aresure of my lady, and that I am certain you may be; for she never willbe brought to consent to marry any other man. Indeed I am terriblyafeared the squire will do her a mischief in his passion, for he is aprodigious passionate gentleman; and I am afeared too the poor ladywill be brought to break her heart, for she is as tender-hearted as achicken. It is pity, methinks, she had not a little of my courage. IfI was in love with a young man, and my father offered to lock me up,I'd tear his eyes out but I'd come at him; but then there's a greatfortune in the case, which it is in her father's power either to giveher or not; that, to be sure, may make some difference."

  Whether Jones gave strict attention to all the foregoing harangue, orwhether it was for want of any vacancy in the discourse, I cannotdetermine; but he never once attempted to answer, nor did she oncestop till Partridge came running into the room, and informed him thatthe great lady was upon the stairs.

  Nothing could equal the dilemma to which Jones was now reduced. Honourknew nothing of any acquaintance that subsisted between him and LadyBellaston, and she was almost the last person in the world to whom hewould have communicated it. In this hurry and distress, he took (as iscommon enough) the worst course, and, instead of exposing her to thelady, which would have been of little consequence, he chose to exposethe lady to her; he therefore resolved to hide Honour, whom he had butjust time to convey behind the bed, and to draw the curtains.

  The hurry in which Jones had been all day engaged on account of hispoor landlady and her family, the terrors occasioned by Mrs Honour,and the confusion into which he was thrown by the sudden arrival ofLady Bellaston, had altogether driven former thoughts out of his head;so that it never once occurred to his memory to act the part of a sickman; which, indeed, neither the gaiety of his dress, nor the freshnessof his countenance, would have at all supported.

  He received her ladyship therefore rather agreeably to her desiresthan to her expectations, with all the good humour he could muster inhis countenance, and without any real or affected appearance of theleast disorder.

  Lady Bellaston no sooner entered the room, than she squatted herselfdown on the bed: "So, my dear Jones," said she, "you find nothing candetain me long from you. Perhaps I ought to be angry with you, that Ihave neither seen nor heard from you all day; for I perceive yourdistemper would have suffered you to come abroad: nay, I suppose youhave not sat in your chamber all day drest up like a fine lady to seecompany after a lying-in; but, however, don't think I intend to scoldyou; for I never will give you an excuse for the cold behaviour of ahusband, by putting on the ill-humour of a wife."

  "Nay, Lady Bellaston," said Jones, "I am sure your ladyship will notupbraid me with neglect of duty, when I only waited for orders. Who,my dear creature, hath reason to complain? Who missed an appointmentlast night, and left an unhappy man to expect, and wish, and sigh, andlanguish?"

  "Do not mention it, my dear Mr Jones," cried she. "If you knew theoccasion, you would pity me. In short, it is impossible to conceivewhat women of condition are ob
liged to suffer from the impertinence offools, in order to keep up the farce of the world. I am glad, however,all your languishing and wishing have done you no harm; for you neverlooked better in your life. Upon my faith! Jones, you might at thisinstant sit for the picture of Adonis."

  There are certain words of provocation which men of honour hold canproperly be answered only by a blow. Among lovers possibly there maybe some expressions which can be answered only by a kiss. Now thecompliment which Lady Bellaston now made Jones seems to be of thiskind, especially as it was attended with a look, in which the ladyconveyed more soft ideas than it was possible to express with hertongue.

  Jones was certainly at this instant in one of the most disagreeableand distressed situations imaginable; for, to carry on the comparisonwe made use of before, though the provocation was given by the lady,Jones could not receive satisfaction, nor so much as offer to ask it,in the presence of a third person; seconds in this kind of duels notbeing according to the law of arms. As this objection did not occur toLady Bellaston, who was ignorant of any other woman being there butherself, she waited some time in great astonishment for an answer fromJones, who, conscious of the ridiculous figure he made, stood at adistance, and, not daring to give the proper answer, gave none at all.Nothing can be imagined more comic, nor yet more tragical, than thisscene would have been if it had lasted much longer. The lady hadalready changed colour two or three times; had got up from the bed andsat down again, while Jones was wishing the ground to sink under him,or the house to fall on his head, when an odd accident freed him froman embarrassment out of which neither the eloquence of a Cicero, northe politics of a Machiavel, could have delivered him, without utterdisgrace.

  This was no other than the arrival of young Nightingale, dead drunk;or rather in that state of drunkenness which deprives men of the useof their reason without depriving them of the use of their limbs.

  Mrs Miller and her daughters were in bed, and Partridge was smoakinghis pipe by the kitchen fire; so that he arrived at Mr Jones'schamber-door without any interruption. This he burst open, and wasentering without any ceremony, when Jones started from his seat andran to oppose him, which he did so effectually, that Nightingale nevercame far enough within the door to see who was sitting on the bed.

  Nightingale had in reality mistaken Jones's apartment for that inwhich himself had lodged; he therefore strongly insisted on coming in,often swearing that he would not be kept from his own bed. Jones,however, prevailed over him, and delivered him into the hands ofPartridge, whom the noise on the stairs soon summoned to his master'sassistance.

  And now Jones was unwillingly obliged to return to his own apartment,where at the very instant of his entrance he heard Lady Bellastonventing an exclamation, though not a very loud one; and at the sametime saw her flinging herself into a chair in a vast agitation, whichin a lady of a tender constitution would have been an hysteric fit.

  In reality the lady, frightened with the struggle between the two men,of which she did not know what would be the issue, as she heardNightingale swear many oaths he would come to his own bed, attemptedto retire to her known place of hiding, which to her great confusionshe found already occupied by another.

  "Is this usage to be borne, Mr Jones?" cries the lady.--"Basest ofmen?----What wretch is this to whom you have exposed me?" "Wretch!"cries Honour, bursting in a violent rage from her place ofconcealment--"Marry come up!----Wretch forsooth?----as poor a wretchas I am, I am honest; this is more than some folks who are richer cansay."

  Jones, instead of applying himself directly to take off the edge ofMrs Honour's resentment, as a more experienced gallant would havedone, fell to cursing his stars, and lamenting himself as the mostunfortunate man in the world; and presently after, addressing himselfto Lady Bellaston, he fell to some very absurd protestations ofinnocence. By this time the lady, having recovered the use of herreason, which she had as ready as any woman in the world, especiallyon such occasions, calmly replied: "Sir, you need make no apologies, Isee now who the person is; I did not at first know Mrs Honour: but nowI do, I can suspect nothing wrong between her and you; and I am sureshe is a woman of too good sense to put any wrong constructions uponmy visit to you; I have been always her friend, and it may be in mypower to be much more hereafter."

  Mrs Honour was altogether as placable as she was passionate. Hearing,therefore, Lady Bellaston assume the soft tone, she likewise softenedhers.----"I'm sure, madam," says she, "I have been always ready toacknowledge your ladyship's friendships to me; sure I never had sogood a friend as your ladyship----and to be sure, now I see it is yourladyship that I spoke to, I could almost bite my tongue off for verymad.--I constructions upon your ladyship--to be sure it doth notbecome a servant as I am to think about such a great lady--I mean Iwas a servant: for indeed I am nobody's servant now, the moremiserable wretch is me.--I have lost the best mistress----" HereHonour thought fit to produce a shower of tears.--"Don't cry, child,"says the good lady; "ways perhaps may be found to make you amends.Come to me to-morrow morning." She then took up her fan which lay onthe ground, and without even looking at Jones walked very majesticallyout of the room; there being a kind of dignity in the impudence ofwomen of quality, which their inferiors vainly aspire to attain to incircumstances of this nature.

  Jones followed her downstairs, often offering her his hand, which sheabsolutely refused him, and got into her chair without taking anynotice of him as he stood bowing before her.

  At his return upstairs, a long dialogue past between him and MrsHonour, while she was adjusting herself after the discomposure she hadundergone. The subject of this was his infidelity to her young lady;on which she enlarged with great bitterness; but Jones at last foundmeans to reconcile her, and not only so, but to obtain a promise ofmost inviolable secrecy, and that she would the next morning endeavourto find out Sophia, and bring him a further account of the proceedingsof the squire.

  Thus ended this unfortunate adventure to the satisfaction only of MrsHonour; for a secret (as some of my readers will perhaps acknowledgefrom experience) is often a very valuable possession: and that notonly to those who faithfully keep it, but sometimes to such as whisperit about till it come to the ears of every one except the ignorantperson who pays for the supposed concealing of what is publicklyknown.