Sophia now desired her Father to return home; saying, she found herself very faint, and apprehended a Relapse. The Squire immediately complied with his Daughter’s Request, (for he was the fondest of Parents.) He earnestly endeavoured to prevail with the whole Company to go and sup with him; but Blifil and Thwackum absolutely refused; the former saying, There were more Reasons than he could then mention, why he must decline this Honour; and the latter declaring (perhaps rightly) that it was not proper for a Person of his Function to be seen at any Place in his present Condition.
Jones was incapable of refusing the Pleasure of being with his Sophia. So on he marched with Squire Western and his Ladies, the Parson bringing up the Rear. This had, indeed, offered to tarry with his Brother Thwackum, professing his Regard for the Cloth would not permit him to depart; but Thwackum would not accept the Favour, and, with no great Civility, pushed him after Mr. Western.
Thus ended this bloody Fray; and thus shall end the fifth Book of this History.
BOOK VI.
Containing about three Weeks.
CHAPTER I.
Of Love.
In our last Book we have been obliged to deal pretty much with the Passion of Love; and, in our succeeding Book, shall be forced to handle this Subject still more largely. It may not, therefore, in this Place, be improper to apply ourselves to the Examination of that modern Doctrine, by which certain Philosophers, among many other wonderful Discoveries, pretend to have found out, that there is no such Passion in the human Breast.
Whether these Philosophers be the same with that surprising Sect, who are honourably mentioned by the late Dr. Swift, as having, by the mere Force of Genius alone, without the least Assistance of any Kind of Learning, or even Reading, discovered that profound and invaluable Secret, That there is no God:1 or whether they are not rather the same with those who, some Years since, very much alarmed the World, by shewing that there were no such Things as Virtue or Goodness really existing in Human Nature, and who deduced our best Actions from Pride,2 I will not here presume to determine. In reality, I am inclined to suspect, that all these several Finders of Truth are the very identical Men, who are by others called the Finders of Gold.3 The Method used in both these Searches after Truth and after Gold, being indeed one and the same; viz. the searching, rummaging, and examining into a nasty Place; indeed, in the former Instances, into the nastiest of all Places, A BAD MIND.
But though, in this Particular, and perhaps in their Success, the Truth-finder, and the Gold-finder, may very properly be compared together; yet in Modesty, surely, there can be no Comparison between the two; for who ever heard of a Gold-finder that had the Impudence or Folly to assert, from the ill Success of his Search, that there was no such thing as Gold in the World? Whereas the Truth-finder, having raked out that Jakes, his own Mind, and being there capable of tracing no Ray of Divinity, nor any thing virtuous, or good, or lovely, or loving, very fairly, honestly, and logically concludes, that no such things exist in the whole Creation.
To avoid, however, all Contention, if possible, with these Philosophers, if they will be called so; and to shew our own Disposition to accommodate Matters peaceably between us, we shall here make them some Concessions, which may possibly put an End to the Dispute.
First, we will grant that many Minds, and perhaps those of the Philosophers, are entirely free from the least Traces of such a Passion.
Secondly, That what is commonly called Love, namely, the Desire of satisfying a voracious Appetite with a certain Quantity of delicate white human Flesh, is by no means that Passion for which I here contend. This is indeed more properly Hunger; and as no Glutton is ashamed to apply the Word Love to his Appetite, and to say he loves such and such Dishes; so may the Lover of this Kind, with equal Propriety say, he hungers after such and such Women.
Thirdly, I will grant, which I believe will be a most acceptable Concession, that this Love for which I am an Advocate, though it satisfies itself in a much more delicate Manner, doth nevertheless seek its own Satisfaction as much as the grossest of all our Appetites.
And, Lastly, That this Love, when it operates towards one of a different Sex, is very apt, towards its complete Gratification, to call in the Aid of that Hunger which I have mentioned above; and which it is so far from abating, that it heightens all its Delights to a Degree scarce imaginable by those who have never been susceptible of any other Emotions, than what have proceeded from Appetite alone.
In return to all these Concessions, I desire of the Philosophers to grant, that there is in some (I believe in many) human Breasts, a kind and benevolent Disposition, which is gratified by contributing to the Happiness of others. That in this Gratification alone, as in Friendship, in parental and filial Affection, as indeed in general Philanthropy, there is a great and exquisite Delight. That if we will not call such Disposition Love, we have no Name for it. That though the Pleasures arising from such pure Love may be heightened and sweetened by the Assistance of amorous Desires, yet the former can subsist alone, nor are they destroyed by the Intervention of the latter. Lastly, That Esteem and Gratitude are the proper Motives to Love, as Youth and Beauty are to Desire; and therefore though such Desire may naturally cease, when Age or Sickness overtakes its Object; yet these can have no Effect on Love, nor ever shake or remove from a good Mind, that Sensation or Passion which hath Gratitude and Esteem for its Basis.
To deny the Existence of a Passion of which we often see manifest Instances, seems to be very strange and absurd; and can indeed proceed only from that Self-Admonition which we have mentioned above: But how unfair is this? Doth the Man who recognizes in his own Heart no Traces of Avarice or Ambition, conclude therefore that there are no such Passions in Human Nature? Why will we not modestly observe the same Rule in judging of the Good, as well as the Evil of others? Or why, in any Case, will we, as Shakespear phrases it, ‘put the World in our own Person?’4
Predominant Vanity is, I am afraid, too much concerned here. This is one Instance of that Adulation which we bestow on our own Minds, and this almost universally. For there is scarce any Man, how much soever he may despise the Character of a Flatterer, but will condescend in the meanest Manner to flatter himself.
To those, therefore, I apply for the Truth of the above Observations, whose own Minds can bear Testimony to what I have advanced.
Examine your Heart, my good Reader, and resolve whether you do believe these Matters with me. If you do, you may now proceed to their Exemplification in the following Pages; if you do not, you have, I assure you, already read more than you have understood; and it would be wiser to pursue your Business, or your Pleasures (such as they are) than to throw away any more of your Time in reading what you can neither taste nor comprehend. To treat of the Effects of Love to you, must be as absurd as to discourse on Colours to a Man born blind; since possibly your Idea of Love may be as absurd as that which we are told such blind Man once entertained of the Colour Scarlet: that Colour seemed to him to be very much like the Sound of a Trumpet;5 and Love probably may, in your Opinion, very greatly resemble a Dish of Soup, or a Sir-loin of Roast-beef.
CHAPTER II.
The Character of Mrs. Western. Her great Learning
and Knowledge of the World, and an Instance of
the deep Penetration which she derived from
those Advantages.
The Reader hath seen Mr. Western, his Sister and Daughter, with young Jones, and the Parson, going together to Mr. Western’s House, where the greater part of the Company spent the Evening with much Joy and Festivity. Sophia was indeed the only grave Person: For as to Jones, though Love had now gotten entire Possession of his Heart, yet the pleasing Reflection on Mr. Allworthy’s Recovery, and the Presence of his Mistress, joined to some tender Looks which she now and then could not refrain from giving him, so elevated our Heroe, that he joined the Mirth of the other three, who were perhaps as good-humoured People as any in the World.
Sophia retained the same Gravity of Countenance the next Morning at
Breakfast; whence she retired likewise earlier than usual, leaving her Father and Aunt together. The Squire took no Notice of this Change in his Daughter’s Disposition. To say the Truth, though he was somewhat of a Politician, and had been twice a Candidate in the Country Interest1 at an Election, he was a Man of no great Observation. His Sister was a Lady of a different Turn. She had lived about the Court, and had seen the World. Hence she had acquired all that Knowledge which the said World usually communicates; and was a perfect Mistress of Manners, Customs, Ceremonies, and Fashions; nor did her Erudition stop here. She had considerably improved her Mind by Study; she had not only read all the modern Plays, Operas, Oratorios, Poems and Romances; in all which she was a Critic; but had gone thro’ Rapin’s History of England, Eachard’s Roman History, and many French Memoires pour servir à l’ Histoire; to these she had added most of the political Pamphlets and Journals, published within the last twenty Years.2 From which she had attained a very competent Skill in Politics, and could discourse very learnedly on the Affairs of Europe. She was moreover excellently well skilled in the Doctrine of Amour, and knew better than any Body who and who were together: A Knowledge which she the more easily attained, as her Pursuit of it was never diverted by any Affairs of her own; for either she had no Inclinations, or they had never been sollicited; which last is indeed very probable: For her masculine Person, which was near six Foot high, added to her Manner and Learning, possibly prevented the other Sex from regarding her, notwithstanding her Petticoats, in the Light of a Woman. However, as she had considered the Matter scientifically, she perfectly well knew, though she had never practised them, all the Arts which fine Ladies use when they desire to give Encouragement, or to conceal Liking, with all the long Appendage of Smiles, Ogles, Glances, &c. as they are at present practised in the Beau-monde. To sum the whole, no Species of Disguise or Affectation had escaped her Notice; but as to the plain simple Workings of honest Nature, as she had never seen any such, she could know but little of them.
By means of this wonderful Sagacity, Mrs. Western had now, as she thought, made a Discovery of something in the Mind of Sophia. The first Hint of this she took from the Behaviour of the young Lady in the Field of Battle: and the Suspicion which she then conceived, was greatly corroborated by some Observations which she had made that Evening and the next Morning. However, being greatly cautious to avoid being found in a Mistake, she carried the Secret a whole Fortnight in her Bosom, giving only some oblique Hints, by Simperings, Winks, Nods, and now and then dropping an obscure Word, which indeed sufficiently alarmed Sophia, but did not at all affect her Brother.
Being at length, however, thoroughly satisfied of the Truth of her Observation, she took an Opportunity, one Morning, when she was alone with her Brother, to interrupt one of his Whistles in the following Manner:
‘Pray, Brother, have you not observed something very extraordinary in my Niece lately?’ ‘No, not I,’ answered Western; ‘Is any thing the Matter with the Girl?’ ‘I think there is,’ replies she, ‘and something of much Consequence too.’ ‘Why she doth not complain of any thing,’ cries Western, ‘and she hath had the Small Pox.’ ‘Brother,’ returned she, ‘Girls are liable to other Distempers besides the Small Pox, and sometimes possibly to much worse.’ Here Western interrupted her with much Earnestness, and begged her, if any thing ailed his Daughter, to acquaint him immediately, adding, ‘she knew he loved her more than his own Soul, and that he would send to the World’s End for the best Physician to her.’ ‘Nay, nay,’ answered she, smiling, ‘the Distemper is not so terrible; but I believe, Brother, you are convinced I know the World, and I promise you I was never more deceived in my Life, if my Niece be not most desperately in Love.’ ‘How! in Love,’ cries Western, in a Passion, ‘in Love without acquainting me! I’ll disinherit her, I’ll turn her out of Doors, stark naked, without a Farthing. Is all my kindness vor ’ur, and vondness o’ur come to this, to fall in Love without asking me Leave!’ ‘But you will not,’ answered Mrs. Western, ‘turn this Daughter, whom you love better than your own Soul, out of Doors, before you know whether you shall approve her Choice. Suppose she should have fixed on the very Person whom you yourself would wish, I hope you would not be angry then.’ ‘No, no,’ cries Western, ‘that would make a Difference. If she marries the Man I would ha’ her, she may love whom she pleases, I shan’t trouble my Head about that.’ ‘That is spoken,’ answered the Sister, ‘like a sensible Man, but I believe the very Person she hath chosen, would be the very Person you would chuse for her. I will disclaim all Knowledge of the World if it is not so; and I believe, Brother, you will allow I have some.’ ‘Why lookee, Sister,’ said Western, ‘I do believe you have as much as any Woman; and to be sure those are Women’s Matters. You know I don’t love to hear you talk about Politics, they belong to us, and Petticoats should not meddle: But come, who is the Man?’ ‘Marry!’ said she, ‘you may find him out yourself, if you please. You who are so great a Politician, can be at no great Loss. The Judgment which can penetrate into the Cabinets of Princes, and discover the secret Springs which move the great State Wheels in all the political Machines of Europe, must surely, with very little Difficulty find out what passes in the rude uninformed Mind of a Girl.’ ‘Sister,’ cries the Squire, ‘I have often warned you not to talk the Court Gibberish to me. I tell you, I don’t understand the Lingo; but I can read a Journal, or the London Evening-Post. Perhaps indeed, there may be now and tan a Verse which I can’t make much of, because half the Letters are left out; yet I know very well what is meant by that, and that our Affairs don’t go so well as they should do, because of Bribery and Corruption.’3 ‘I pity your Country Ignorance from my Heart,’ cries the Lady. ‘Do you?’ answered Western, ‘and I pity your Town Learning; I had rather be any thing than a Courtier, and a Presbyterian, and a Hanoverian too, as some People, I believe, are.’ ‘If you mean me,’ answered she, ‘you know I am a Woman, Brother; and it signifies nothing what I am. Besides———’ ‘I do know you are a Woman,’ cries the Squire, ‘and its well for thee, that art one; if hadst been a Man, I promise thee I had lent thee a Flick long ago.’ ‘Ay there,’ said she, ‘In that Flick lies all your fancied Superiority. Your Bodies, and not your Brains, are stronger than ours. Believe me, it is well for you that you are able to beat us; or, such is the Superiority of our Understanding, we should make all of you what the brave, and wise, and witty, and polite are already,—our Slaves.’ ‘I am glad I know your Mind,’ answered the Squire, ‘but we’ll talk more of this Matter another Time. At present, do tell me what Man is it you mean about my Daughter.’ ‘Hold a Moment,’ said she, ‘while I digest that sovereign Contempt I have for your Sex; or else I ought to be angry too with you. There———I have made a Shift to gulp it down. And now, good politic Sir, what think you of Mr. Blifil? Did she not faint away on seeing him lie breathless on the Ground? Did she not, after he was recovered, turn pale again the Moment we came up to that Part of the Field where he stood? And pray what else should be the Occasion of all her Melancholy that Night at Supper, the next Morning, and indeed ever since?’ ‘Fore George!’ cries the Squire, ‘now you mind me on’t, I remember it all. It is certainly so, and I am glad on’t, with all my Heart. I knew Sophy was a good Girl, and would not fall in Love to make me angry. I was never more rejoiced in my Life: For nothing can lie so handy together as our two Estates. I had this Matter in my Head some Time ago; for certainly the two Estates are in a Manner joined together in Matrimony already, and it would be a thousand Pities to part them. It is true indeed, there be larger Estates in the Kingdom, but not in this County, and I had rather bate something, than marry my Daughter among Strangers and Foreigners. Besides most o’zuch great Estates be in the Hands of Lords, and I heate the very Name of themmun. Well but, Sister, what would you advise me to do: For I tell you Women know these Matters better than we do?’ ‘O your humble Servant, Sir,’ answered the Lady, ‘we are obliged to you for allowing us a Capacity in any Thing. Since you are pleased then, most politic Sir
, to ask my Advice, I think you may propose the Match to Allworthy yourself. There is no Indecorum in the Proposal’s coming from the Parent of either Side. King Alcinous, in Mr. Pope’s Odyssey, offers his Daughter to Ulysses.4 I need not caution so politic a Person not to say that your Daughter is in Love; that would indeed be against all Rules.’ ‘Well,’ said the Squire, ‘I will propose it; but I shall certainly lend un a Flick, if he should refuse me.’ ‘Fear not,’ cries Mrs. Western, ‘the Match is too advantageous to be refused.’ ‘I don’t know that,’ answered the Squire, ‘Allworthy is a queer B—ch, and Money hath no Effect o’un.’ ‘Brother,’ said the Lady, ‘your Politics astonish me. Are you really to be imposed on by Professions? Do you think Mr. Allworthy hath more Contempt for Money than other Men, because he professes more? Such Credulity would better become one of us weak Women, than that wise Sex which Heaven hath formed for Politicians. Indeed, Brother, you would make a fine Plenipo to negotiate with the French. They would soon persuade you, that they take Towns out of mere defensive Principles.’ ‘Sister,’ answered the Squire, with much Scorn, ‘let your Friends at Court answer for the Towns taken; as you are a Woman, I shall lay no Blame upon you: For I suppose they are wiser than to trust Women with Secrets.’ He accompanied this with so sarcastical a Laugh, that Mrs. Western could bear no longer. She had been all this Time fretted in a tender Part (for she was indeed very deeply skilled in these Matters, and very violent in them) and therefore burst forth in a Rage, declared her Brother to be both a Clown and a Blockhead, and that she would stay no longer in his House.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 33
