In this virtuous Resolution he continued all the next Day till the Evening, cherishing the Idea of Molly, and driving Sophia from his Thoughts; but in the fatal Evening, a very trifling Accident set all his Passions again on float, and worked so total a Change in his Mind, that we think it decent to communicate it in a fresh Chapter.
CHAPTER IV.
A little Chapter, in which is contained a
little Incident.
Among other Visitants, who paid their Compliments to the young Gentleman in his Confinement, Mrs. Honour was one. The Reader, perhaps, when he reflects on some Expressions which have formerly dropt from her, may conceive that she herself had a very particular Affection for Mr. Jones; but, in reality, it was no such thing. Tom was a handsome young Fellow; and for that Species of Men Mrs. Honour had some Regard; but this was perfectly indiscriminate: For having been crossed in the Love which she bore a certain Nobleman’s Footman, who had basely deserted her after a Promise of Marriage, she had so securely kept together the broken Remains of her Heart, that no Man had ever since been able to possess himself of any single Fragment. She viewed all handsome Men with that equal Regard and Benevolence, which a sober and virtuous Mind bears to all the Good.—She might, indeed, be called a Lover of Men, as Socrates was a Lover of Mankind, preferring one to another for corporeal, as he for mental Qualifications; but never carrying this Preference so far as to cause any Perturbation in the philosophical Serenity of her Temper.
The Day after Mr. Jones had that Conflict with himself, which we have seen in the preceding Chapter, Mrs. Honour came into his Room, and finding him alone, began in the following Manner: ‘La, Sir, where do you think I have been? I warrants you, you would not guess in fifty Years; but if you did guess, to be sure, I must not tell you neither.’ ‘Nay, if it be something which you must not tell me,’ said Jones, ‘I shall have the Curiosity to enquire, and I know you will not be so barbarous to refuse me.’ ‘I don’t know,’ cries she, ‘why I should refuse you neither, for that Matter; for to be sure you won’t mention it any more. And for that Matter, if you knew where I have been, unless you knew what I have been about, it would not signify much. Nay, I don’t see why it should be kept a Secret, for my Part; for to be sure she is the best Lady in the World.’ Upon this, Jones began to beg earnestly to be let into this Secret, and faithfully promised not to divulge it. She then proceeded thus: ‘Why you must know, Sir, my young Lady sent me to enquire after Molly Seagrim, and to see whether the Wench wanted any thing; to be sure, I did not care to go, methinks; but Servants must do what they are ordered.——How could you undervalue yourself so, Mr. Jones?——So my Lady bid me go, and carry her some Linen, and other things.——She is too good. If such forward Sluts were sent to Bridewell, it would be better for them. I told my Lady, says I, Madam, Your La’ship is encouraging Idleness—’ ‘And was my Sophia so good?’ says Jones.—‘My Sophia! I assure you, marry come up,’ answered Honour. ‘And yet if you knew all,—Indeed, If I was as Mr. Jones, I should look a little higher than such Trumpery as Molly Seagrim.’ ‘What do you mean by these Words,’ replied Jones, ‘If I knew all?’ ‘I mean what I mean,’ says Honour. ‘Don’t you remember putting your Hands in my Lady’s Muff once?1 I vow I could almost find in my Heart to tell, if I was certain my Lady would never come to the Hearing on’t.’— Jones then made several solemn Protestations. And Honour proceeded,—‘then to be sure, my Lady gave me that Muff; and afterwards, upon hearing what you had done——’ ‘Then you told her what I had done!’ interrupted Jones. ‘If I did, Sir,’ answered she, ‘you need not be angry with me. Many’s the Man would have given his Head to have had my Lady told, if they had known—— for, to be sure, the biggest Lord in the Land might be proud—but, I protest, I have a great Mind not to tell you.’ Jones fell to Entreaties, and soon prevailed on her to go on thus. ‘You must know then, Sir, that my Lady had given this Muff to me; but about a Day or two after I had told her the Story, she quarrels with her new Muff, and to be sure it is the prettiest that ever was seen. Honour, says she,——this is an odious Muff; it is too big for me,——I can’t wear it——till I can get another, you must let me have my old one again, and you may have this in the room on’t— for she’s a good Lady, and scorns to give a Thing and take a Thing, I promise you that. So to be sure I fetched it her back again, and, I believe, she hath worn it upon her Arm almost ever since, and I warrants hath given it many a Kiss when nobody hath seen her.’
Here the Conversation was interrupted by Mr. Western himself, who came to summon Jones to the Harpsichord; whither the poor young Fellow went all pale and trembling. This Western observ’d, but, on seeing Mrs. Honour, imputed it to a wrong Cause; and having given Jones a hearty Curse between Jest and Earnest, he bid him beat abroad, and not poach up the Game in his Warren.
Sophia looked this Evening with more than usual Beauty, and we may believe it was no small Addition to her Charms, in the Eye of Mr. Jones, that she now happened to have on her Right Arm this very Muff.
She was playing one of her Father’s favourite Tunes, and he was leaning on her Chair, when the Muff fell over her Fingers, and put her out. This so disconcerted the Squire, that he snatched the Muff from her, and with a hearty Curse threw it into the Fire. Sophia instantly started up, and with the utmost Eagerness recovered it from the Flames.
Though this Incident will probably appear of little Consequence to many of our Readers; yet, trifling as it was, it had so violent an Effect on poor Jones, that we thought it our Duty, to relate it. In reality, there are many little Circumstances too often omitted by injudicious Historians, from which Events of the utmost Importance arise. The World may indeed be considered as a vast Machine, in which the great Wheels are originally set in Motion by those which are very minute, and almost imperceptible to any but the strongest Eyes.
Thus, not all the Charms of the incomparable Sophia; not all the dazzling Brightness, and languishing Softness of her Eyes; the Harmony of her Voice, and of her Person; not all her Wit, good Humour, Greatness of Mind, or Sweetness of Disposition, had been able so absolutely to conquer and enslave the Heart of poor Jones, as this little Incident of the Muff. Thus the Poet sweetly sings of Troy.
——Captique dolis lachrymisque coacti
Quos neque Tydides, nec Larissæus Achilles,
Non anni domuere decem, non mille Carinæ.
What Diomede, or Thetis’ greater Son,
A thousand Ships, nor ten Years Siege had done,
False Tears, and fawning Words, the City won.2
The Citadel of Jones was now taken by Surprize. All those Considerations of Honour and Prudence, which our Heroe had lately with so much military Wisdom placed as Guards over the Avenues of his Heart, ran away from their Posts, and the God of Love marched in in Triumph.
CHAPTER V.
A very long Chapter, containing a very great Incident.
But though this victorious Deity easily expelled his avowed Enemies from the Heart of Jones, he found it more difficult to supplant the Garrison which he himself had placed there. To lay aside all Allegory, the Concern for what must become of poor Molly, greatly disturbed and perplexed the Mind of the worthy Youth. The superior Merit of Sophia totally eclipsed, or rather extinguished all the Beauties of the poor Girl; but Compassion instead of Contempt succeeded to Love. He was convinced the Girl had placed all her Affections, and all her Prospect of future Happiness in him only. For this he had, he knew, given sufficient Occasion, by the utmost Profusion of Tenderness towards her: A Tenderness which he had taken every Means to persuade her he would always maintain. She, on her Side, had assured him of her firm Belief in his Promise, and had with the most solemn Vows declared, that on his fulfilling, or breaking these Promises, it depended, whether she should be the happiest or most miserable of Womankind. And to be the Author of this highest Degree of Misery to a human Being, was a Thought on which he could not bear to ruminate a single Moment. He considered this poor Girl as having sacrificed to him every Thing in her little
Power; as having been at her own Expence the Object of his Pleasure; as sighing and languishing for him even at that very Instant. Shall then, says he, my Recovery, for which she hath so ardently wished; shall my Presence which she hath so eagerly expected, instead of giving her that Joy with which she hath flattered herself, cast her at once down into Misery and Despair? Can I be such a Villain? Here, when the Genius of poor Molly seem’d triumphant, the Love of Sophia towards him, which now appeared no longer dubious, rushed upon his Mind, and bore away every Obstacle before it.
At length it occurred to him, that he might possibly be able to make Molly amends another Way; namely, by giving her a Sum of Money. This, nevertheless, he almost despaired of her accepting, when he recollected the frequent and vehement Assurances he had received from her, that the World put in Balance with him would make her no Amends for his Loss. However, her extreme Poverty, and chiefly her egregious Vanity (somewhat of which hath been already hinted to the Reader,) gave him some little Hope, that notwithstanding all her avowed Tenderness, she might in time be brought to content herself with a Fortune superior to her Expectation, and which might indulge her Vanity, by setting her above all her Equals. He resolved therefore, to take the first Opportunity of making a Proposal of this kind.
One Day accordingly, when his Arm was so well recovered, that he could walk easily with it slung in a Sash, he stole forth, at a Season when the Squire was engaged in his Field Exercises, and visited his Fair-one. Her Mother and Sisters, whom he found taking their Tea, inform’d him first that Molly was not at home; but afterwards, the eldest Sister acquainted him with a malicious Smile, that she was above Stairs a-bed. Tom had no Objection to this Situation of his Mistress, and immediately ascended the Ladder which led towards her Bedchamber; but when he came to the Top, he, to his great Surprize, found the Door fast; nor could he for some time obtain any Answer from within; for Molly, as she herself afterwards informed him, was fast asleep.
The Extremes of Grief and Joy have been remarked to produce very similar Effects; and when either of these rushes on us by Surprize, it is apt to create such a total Perturbation and Confusion, that we are often thereby deprived of the Use of all our Faculties. It cannot therefore be wondered at, that the unexpected Sight of Mr. Jones should so strongly operate on the Mind of Molly, and should overwhelm her with such Confusion, that for some Minutes she was unable to express the great Raptures, with which the Reader will suppose she was affected on this Occasion. As for Jones, he was so entirely possessed, and as it were enchanted by the Presence of his beloved Object, that he for a while forgot Sophia, and consequently the principal Purpose of his Visit.
This, however, soon recurred to his Memory; and after the first Transports of their Meeting were over, he found Means by Degrees to introduce a Discourse on the fatal Consequences which must attend their Amour, if Mr. Allworthy, who had strictly forbidden him ever seeing her more, should discover that he still carried on this Commerce. Such a Discovery, which his Enemies gave him reason to think would be unavoidable, must, he said, end in his Ruin, and consequently in hers. Since, therefore, their hard Fates had determined that they must separate, he advised her to bear it with Resolution, and swore he would never omit any Opportunity through the Course of his Life, of shewing her the Sincerity of his Affection, by providing for her in a manner beyond her utmost Expectation, or even beyond her Wishes, if ever that should be in his Power; concluding at last, that she might soon find some Man who would marry her, and who would make her much happier than she could be by leading a disreputable Life with him.
Molly remained a few Moments in Silence, and then bursting into a Flood of Tears, she began to upbraid him in the following Words: ‘And this is your Love for me, to forsake me in this manner, now you have ruined me? How often, when I have told you that all Men are false and Perjury alike, and grow tired of us as soon as ever they have had their wicked Wills of us, how often have you sworn you would never forsake me? And can you be such a perjury Man after all? What signifies all the Riches in the World to me without you, now you have gained my Heart, so you have—you have—? Why do you mention another Man to me? I can never love any other Man as long as I live. All other Men are nothing to me. If the greatest Squire in all the Country would come a suiting to me to-morrow, I would not give my Company to him. No, I shall always hate and despise the whole Sex for your sake’—
She was proceeding thus, when an Accident put a stop to her Tongue, before it had run out half its Career. The Room, or rather Garret, in which Molly lay, being up one Pair of Stairs, that is to say, at the Top of the House, was of a sloping Figure, resembling the great Delta of the Greeks. The English Reader may, perhaps, form a better Idea of it,1 by being told, that it was impossible to stand upright any where but in the Middle. Now, as this Room wanted the Conveniency of a Closet, Molly had, to supply that Defect, nailed up an old Rug against the Rafters of the House, which enclosed a little Hole where her best Apparel, such as the Remains of that Sack which we have formerly mention’d, some Caps, and other things with which she had lately provided herself, were hung up and secured from the Dust.
This inclosed Place exactly fronted the Foot of the Bed, to which, indeed, the Rug hung so near, that it served, in a manner, to supply the Want of Curtains. Now, whether Molly in the Agonies of her Rage, pushed this Rug with her Feet; or, Jones might touch it; or whether the Pin or Nail gave way of its own accord, I am not certain; but as Molly pronounced those last Words, which are recorded above, the wicked Rug got loose from its Fastning, and discovered every thing hid behind it; where among other female Utensils appeared——(with Shame I write it, and with Sorrow will it be read)——the Philosopher Square, in a Posture (for the Place would not near admit his standing upright) as ridiculous as can possibly be conceived.
The Posture, indeed, in which he stood, was not greatly unlike that of a Soldier who is tyed Neck and Heels; or rather resembling the Attitude in which we often see Fellows in the public Streets of London, who are not suffering but deserving Punishment by so standing.2 He had a Night-cap belonging to Molly on his Head, and his two large Eyes, the Moment the Rug fell, stared directly at Jones; so that when the Idea of Philosophy was added to the Figure now discovered, it would have been very difficult for any Spectator to have refrained from immoderate Laughter.
I question not but the Surprize of the Reader will be here equal to that of Jones; as the Suspicions which must arise from the Appearance of this wise and grave Man in such a Place, may seem so inconsistent with that Character, which he hath, doubtless, maintain’d hitherto, in the Opinion of every one.
But to confess the Truth, this Inconsistency is rather imaginary than real. Philosophers are composed of Flesh and Blood as well as other human Creatures; and however sublimated and refined the Theory of these may be, a little practical Frailty is as incident to them as to other Mortals. It is indeed, in Theory only and not in Practice, as we have before hinted, that consists the Difference: For though such great Beings think much better and more wisely, they always act exactly like other Men. They know very well how to subdue all Appetites and Passions, and to despise both Pain and Pleasure; and this Knowledge affords much delightful Contemplation, and is easily acquired; but the Practice would be vexatious and troublesome; and, therefore, the same Wisdom which teaches them to know this, teaches them to avoid carrying it into Execution.
Mr. Square happened to be at Church, on that Sunday, when, as the Reader may be pleased to remember, the Appearance of Molly in her Sack had caused all that Disturbance. Here he first observed her, and was so pleased with her Beauty, that he prevailed with the young Gentlemen to change their intended Ride that Evening, that he might pass by the Habitation of Molly, and, by that means, might obtain a second Chance of seeing her. This Reason, however, as he did not at that Time mention to any, so neither did we think proper to communicate it then to the Reader.
Among other Particulars which constituted the Unfitness of Things in Mr. Square’s Opinion, Danger and Di
fficulty were two. The Difficulty, therefore, which he apprehended there might be in corrupting this young Wench, and the Danger which would accrue to his Character on the Discovery, were such strong Dissuasives, that it is probable, he at first intended to have contented himself with the pleasing Ideas which the Sight of Beauty furnishes us with. These the gravest Men, after a full Meal of serious Meditation, often allow themselves by way of Dessert: For which Purpose, certain Books and Pictures find their way into the most private Recesses of their Study, and a certain liquorish3 Part of natural Philosophy is often the principal Subject of their Conversation.
But when the Philosopher heard a Day or two afterwards, that the Fortress of Virtue had already been subdued, he began to give a larger Scope to his Desires. His Appetite was not of that squeamish kind which cannot feed on a Dainty because another hath tasted it. In short, he liked the Girl the better for the Want of that Chastity, which, if she had possessed it, must have been a Bar to his Pleasures; he pursued, and obtained her.
The Reader will be mistaken, if he thinks Molly gave Square the Preference to her younger Lover: On the contrary, had she been confined to the Choice of one only, Tom Jones would, undoubtedly, have been, of the two, the victorious Person. Nor was it solely the Consideration that two are better than one (tho’ this had its proper Weight) to which Mr. Square owed his Success; the Absence of Jones during his Confinement was an unlucky Circumstance; and in that Interval, some well chosen Presents from the Philosopher so softened and unguarded the Girl’s Heart, that a favourable Opportunity became irresistible, and Square triumphed over the poor Remains of Virtue which subsisted in the Bosom of Molly.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 28
