The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  ‘And is it possible you can think of disgracing your Family by allying yourself to a Bastard? Can the Blood of the Westerns submit to such Contamination! If you have not Sense sufficient to restrain such monstrous Inclinations, I thought the Pride of our Family would have prevented you from giving the least Encouragement to so base an Affection; much less did I imagine you would ever have had the Assurance to own it to my Face.’

  ‘Madam,’ answered Sophia, trembling, ‘what I have said you have extorted from me. I do not remember to have ever mentioned the Name of Mr. Jones, with Approbation, to any one before; nor should I now, had I not conceived he had your Approbation. Whatever were my Thoughts of that poor unhappy young Man, I intended to have carried them with me to my Grave—To that Grave where only now, I find, I am to seek Repose.’—Here she sunk down in her Chair, drowned in her Tears, and, in all the moving Silence of unutterable Grief, presented a Spectacle which must have affected almost the hardest Heart.

  All this tender Sorrow, however, raised no Compassion in her Aunt. On the contrary, she now fell into the most violent Rage— ‘And I would rather,’ she cried, in a most vehement Voice, ‘follow you to your Grave, than I would see you disgrace yourself and your Family by such a Match. O Heavens! could I have ever suspected that I should live to hear a Niece of mine declare a Passion for such a Fellow? You are the first—yes, Miss Western, you are the first of your Name who ever entertained so grovelling a Thought. A Family so noted for the Prudence of its Women’— Here she run on a full Quarter of an Hour, till having exhausted her Breath rather than her Rage, she concluded with threatning to go immediately and acquaint her Brother.

  Sophia then threw herself at her Feet, and laying hold of her Hands, ‘begged her, with Tears, to conceal what she had drawn from her; urging the Violence of her Father’s Temper, and protesting that no Inclinations of hers should ever prevail with her to do any thing which might offend him.’

  Mrs. Western stood a Moment looking at her, and then having recollected herself, said, that ‘on one Consideration only she would keep the Secret from her Brother; and this was, that Sophia should promise to entertain Mr. Blifil that very Afternoon as her Lover, and to regard him as the Person who was to be her Husband.’

  Poor Sophia was too much in her Aunt’s Power to deny her any thing positively; she was obliged to promise that she would see Mr. Blifil, and be as civil to him as possible; but begged her Aunt that the Match might not be hurried on. She said, ‘Mr. Blifil was by no means agreeable to her, and she hoped her Father would be prevailed on not to make her the most wretched of Women.’

  Mrs. Western assured her, ‘that the Match was entirely agreed upon, and that nothing could or should prevent it.’ ‘I must own,’ said she, ‘I looked on it as on a Matter of Indifference; nay, perhaps, had some Scruples about it before, which were actually got over by my thinking it highly agreeable to your own Inclinations; but now I regard it as the most eligible thing in the World; nor shall there be, if I can prevent it, a Moment of Time lost on the Occasion.’

  Sophia replied, ‘Delay at least, Madam, I may expect from both your Goodness and my Father’s. Surely you will give me Time to endeavour to get the better of so strong a Disinclination as I have at present to this Person.’

  The Aunt answered, ‘She knew too much of the World to be so deceived; that as she was sensible another Man had her Affections, she should persuade Mr. Western to hasten the Match as much as possible.2 It would be bad Politics indeed,’ added she, ‘to protract a Siege when the Enemy’s Army is at Hand, and in Danger of relieving it. No, no, Sophy,’ said she, ‘as I am convinced you have a violent Passion, which you can never satisfy with Honour, I will do all I can to put your Honour out of the Care of your Family: For when you are married, those Matters will belong only to the Consideration of your Husband. I hope, Child, you will always have Prudence enough to act as becomes you; but if you should not, Marriage hath saved many a Woman from Ruin.’

  Sophia well understood what her Aunt meant; but did not think proper to make her an Answer. However, she took a Resolution to see Mr. Blifil, and to behave to him as civilly as she could: For on that Condition only she obtained a Promise from her Aunt to keep secret the Liking which her ill Fortune, rather than any Scheme of Mrs. Western, had unhappily drawn from her.

  CHAPTER VI.

  Containing a Dialogue between Sophia and Mrs. Honour, which may a little relieve those tender Affections which the foregoing Scene may have raised in the Mind of a good-natured Reader.

  Mrs. Western having obtained that Promise from her Niece which we have seen in the last Chapter, withdrew; and presently after arrived Mrs. Honour. She was at Work in a neighbouring Apartment, and had been summoned to the Key-hole by some Vociferation in the preceding Dialogue, where she had continued during the remaining Part of it. At her Entry into the Room, she found Sophia standing motionless, with the Tears trickling from her Eyes. Upon which she immediately ordered a proper Quantity of Tears into her own Eyes, and then began, ‘O Gemini, my dear Lady, what is the Matter?’ ‘Nothing,’ cries Sophia. ‘Nothing! O dear Madam,’ answers Mrs. Honour, ‘you must not tell me that, when your Ladyship is in this Taking, and when there hath been such a Preamble between your Ladyship and Madam Western.’ ‘Don’t teaze me,’ cries Sophia, ‘I tell you nothing is the Matter.—Good Heavens! Why was I born!’—‘Nay, Madam,’ says Mrs. Honour, ‘you shall never persuade me, that your La’ship can lament yourself so for nothing. To be sure, I am but a Servant; but to be sure I have been always faithful to your Ladyship, and to be sure I would serve your La’ship with my Life.’ ‘My dear Honour,’ says Sophia, ‘ ’tis not in thy Power to be of any Service to me. I am irretrievably undone.’ ‘Heaven forbid,’ answered the Waiting-woman; ‘but if I can’t be of any service to you, pray tell me, Madam, it will be some Comfort to me to know: Pray dear Ma’am, tell me what’s the Matter.’ ‘My Father,’ cries Sophia, ‘is going to marry me to a Man I both despise and hate.’ ‘O, dear Ma’am,’ answered the other, ‘who is this wicked Man? For to be sure he is very bad, or your La’ship would not despise him.’ ‘His Name is Poison to my Tongue,’ replied Sophia, ‘thou wilt know it too soon.’ Indeed, to confess the Truth, she knew it already, and therefore was not very inquisitive as to that Point. She then proceeded thus: ‘I don’t pretend to give your La’ship Advice, whereof your La’ship knows much better than I can pretend to, being but a Servant; but, i-fackins! no Father in England should marry me against my Consent. And to be sure, the Squire is so good, that if he did but know your La’ship despises and hates the young Man, to be sure he would not desire you to marry him. And if your La’ship would but give me Leave to tell my Master so—To be sure, it would be more properer to come from your own Mouth; but as your La’ship doth not care to foul your Tongue with his nasty Name.’ ‘You are mistaken, Honour,’ says Sophia, ‘my Father was determined before he ever thought fit to mention it to me.’ ‘More Shame for him,’ cries Honour, ‘you are to go to Bed to him, and not Master. And thof a Man may be a very proper Man, yet every Woman mayn’t think him handsome alike. I am sure my Master would never act in this Manner of his own Head. I wish some People would trouble themselves only with what belongs to them; they would not, I believe, like to be served so, if it was their own Case: For tho’ I am a Maid, I can easily believe as how all Men are not equally agreeable. And what signifies your La’ship having so great a Fortune, if you can’t please yourself with the Man you think most handsomest? Well, I say nothing, but to be sure it is Pity some Folks had not been better born; nay, as for that Matter, I should not mind it myself: But then there is not so much Money, and what of that? your La’ship hath Money enough for both; and where can your La’ship bestow your Fortune better? For to be sure every one must allow, that he is the most handsomest, charmingest, finest, tallest, properest Man in the World.’ ‘What do you mean by running on in this Manner to me?’ cries Sophia, with a very grave Countenance. ‘Have I ever given any Encouragement for the
se Liberties?’ ‘Nay Ma’am, I ask Pardon; I meant no Harm,’ answered she; ‘but to be sure the poor Gentleman hath run in my Head ever since I saw him this Morning.—To be sure, if your Ladyship had but seen him just now, you must have pitied him. Poor Gentleman! I wishes some Misfortune hath not happened to him: For he hath been walking about with his Arms a-cross, and looking so melancholy all this Morning; I vow and protest it made me almost cry to see him.’ ‘To see whom?’ says Sophia. ‘Poor Mr. Jones,’ answered Honour. ‘See him! Why, where did you see him?’ cries Sophia. ‘By the Canal, Ma’am,’ says Honour. ‘There he hath been walking all this Morning, and at last there he laid himself down; I believe he lies there still. To be sure, if it had not been for my Modesty, being a Maid as I am, I should have gone and spoke to him. Do, Ma’am, let me go and see, only for a Fancy, whether he is there still.’ ‘Pugh!’ says Sophia, ‘There! no, no, what should he do there? He is gone before this Time to be sure. Besides, why—what—why should you go to see?—Besides, I want you for something else. Go, fetch me my Hat and Gloves. I shall walk with my Aunt in the Grove before Dinner.’ Honour did immediately as she was bid, and Sophia put her Hat on; when looking in the Glass, she fancied the Ribbon with which her Hat was tied, did not become her, and so sent her Maid back again for a Ribbon of a different Colour; and then giving Mrs. Honour repeated Charges not to leave her Work on any Account, as she said it was in violent Haste, and must be finished that very Day; she muttered something more about going to the Grove, and then sallied out the contrary Way, and walked as fast as her tender trembling Limbs could carry her, directly towards the Canal.

  Jones had been there, as Mrs. Honour had told her: He had indeed spent two Hours there that Morning in melancholy Contemplation on his Sophia, and had gone out from the Garden at one Door, the Moment she entered it at another. So that those unlucky Minutes which had been spent in changing the Ribbons, had prevented the Lovers from meeting at this Time. A most unfortunate Accident, from which my fair Readers will not fail to draw a very wholesome Lesson. And here I strictly forbid all Male Critics to intermeddle with a Circumstance, which I have recounted only for the sake of the Ladies, and upon which they only are at Liberty to comment.

  CHAPTER VII.

  A Picture of formal Courtship in Miniature, as it always ought to be drawn, and a Scene of a tenderer Kind, painted at full Length.

  It was well-remarked by one, (and perhaps by more) that Misfortunes do not come single.1 This wise Maxim was now verified by Sophia, who was not only disappointed of seeing the Man she loved; but had the Vexation of being obliged to dress herself out, in order to receive a Visit from the Man she hated.

  That Afternoon, Mr. Western, for the first Time, acquainted his Daughter with his Intention; telling her, he knew very well that she had heard it before from her Aunt. Sophia looked very grave upon this, nor could she prevent a few Pearls from stealing into her Eyes. ‘Come, come,’ says Western, ‘none of your Maidenish Airs; I know all; I assure you, Sister hath told me all.’

  ‘Is it possible,’ says Sophia, ‘that my Aunt can have betrayed me already?’ ‘Ay, ay,’ says Western, ‘betrayed you! ay. Why, you betrayed yourself Yesterday at Dinner. You shewed your Fancy very plainly, I think. But you young Girls never know what you would be at. So you cry because I am going to marry you to the Man you are in Love with! Your Mother, I remember, whimpered and whined just in the same Manner; but it was all over within twenty-four Hours after we were married: Mr. Blifil is a brisk young Man, and will soon put an End to your Squeamishness. Come, chear up, chear up, I expect un every Minute.’

  Sophia was now convinced that her Aunt had behaved honourably to her; and she determined to go through that disagreeable Afternoon with as much Resolution as possible, and without giving the least Suspicion in the World to her Father.

  Mr. Blifil soon arrived; and Mr. Western soon after withdrawing, left the young Couple together.

  Here a long Silence of near a Quarter of an Hour ensued: For the Gentleman who was to begin the Conversation had all that unbecoming Modesty which consists in Bashfulness. He often attempted to speak, and as often suppressed his Words just at the very Point of Utterance. At last out they broke in a Torrent of farfetched and high-strained Compliments, which were answered on her Side, by downcast Looks, half Bows and civil Monosyllables. Blifil from his Inexperience in the Ways of Women, and from his Conceit of himself, took this Behaviour for a modest Assent to his Courtship; and when to shorten a Scene which she could no longer support, Sophia rose up and left the Room, he imputed that too, merely to Bashfulness, and comforted himself, that he should soon have enough of her Company.

  He was indeed perfectly well satisfied with his Prospect of Success: For as to that entire and absolute Possession of the Heart of his Mistress, which romantic Lovers require, the very Idea of it never entered his Head. Her Fortune and her Person were the sole Objects of his Wishes, of which he made no Doubt soon to obtain the absolute Property; as Mr. Western’s Mind was so earnestly bent on the Match; and as he well knew the strict Obedience which Sophia was always ready to pay to her Father’s Will, and the greater still which her Father would exact, if there was Occasion. This Authority, therefore, together with the Charms which he fancied in his own Person and Conversation, could not fail, he thought, of succeeding with a young Lady, whose Inclinations, were, he doubted not, entirely disengaged.

  Of Jones he certainly had not even the least Jealousy; and I have often thought it wonderful that he had not. Perhaps he imagined the Character which Jones bore all over the Country, (how justly let the Reader determine) of being one of the wildest Fellows in England, might render him odious to a Lady of the most exemplary Modesty. Perhaps his Suspicions might be laid asleep by the Behaviour of Sophia, and of Jones himself, when they were all in Company together. Lastly, and indeed principally, he was well assured there was not another Self in the Case. He fancied that he knew Jones to the Bottom, and had in reality a great Contempt for his Understanding, for not being more attached to his own Interest. He had no Apprehension that Jones was in Love with Sophia; and as for any lucrative Motives, he imagined they would sway very little with so silly a Fellow. Blifil, moreover, thought the Affair of Molly Seagrim still went on, and indeed believed it would end in Marriage: For Jones really loved him from his Childhood, and had kept no Secret from him, till his Behaviour on the Sickness of Mr. Allworthy had entirely alienated his Heart; and it was by Means of the Quarrel which had ensued on this Occasion, and which was not yet reconciled, that Mr. Blifil knew nothing of the Alteration which had happened in the Affection which Jones had formerly borne towards Molly.