From these Reasons, therefore, Mr. Blifil saw no Bar to his Success with Sophia. He concluded, her Behaviour was like that of all other young Ladies on a first Visit from a Lover, and it had indeed entirely answered his Expectations.
Mr. Western took Care to way-lay the Lover at his Exit from his Mistress. He found him so elevated with his Success, so enamoured with his Daughter, and so satisfied with her Reception of him, that the old Gentleman began to caper and dance about his Hall, and by many other antic Actions, to express the Extravagance of his Joy: For he had not the least Command over any of his Passions: and that which had at any Time the Ascendant in his Mind, hurried him to the wildest Excesses.
As soon as Blifil was departed, which was not till after many hearty Kisses and Embraces bestowed on him by Western, the good Squire went instantly in quest of his Daughter, whom he no sooner found than he poured forth the most extravagant Raptures, bidding her chuse what Clothes and Jewels she pleased; and declaring that he had no other Use for Fortune but to make her happy. He then caressed her again and again with the utmost Profusion of Fondness, called her by the most endearing Names, and protested she was his only Joy on Earth.
Sophia perceiving her Father in this Fit of Affection, which she did not absolutely know the Reason of (for Fits of Fondness were not unusual to him, tho’ this was rather more violent than ordinary) thought she should never have a better Opportunity of disclosing herself than at present; as far at least, as regarded Mr. Blifil; and she too well foresaw the Necessity which she should soon be under of coming to a full Explanation. After having thanked the Squire, therefore for all his Professions of Kindness, she added, with a Look full of inexpressible Softness, ‘And is it possible my Papa can be so good to place all his Joy in his Sophy’s Happiness?’ which Western having confirmed by a great Oath and a Kiss; she then laid hold of his Hand, and falling on her Knees, after many warm and passionate Declarations of Affection and Duty, she begged him, ‘not to make her the most miserable Creature on Earth, by forcing her to marry a Man whom she detested. This I entreat of you, dear Sir,’ said she, ‘for your Sake, as well as my own, since you are so very kind to tell me your Happiness depends on mine.’ ‘How! what!’ says Western, staring wildly. ‘O Sir,’ continued she, ‘not only your poor Sophy’s Happiness, her very Life, her Being depends upon your granting her Request. I cannot live with Mr. Blifil. To force me into this Marriage, would be killing me.’ ‘You can’t live with Mr. Blifil!’ says Western. ‘No, upon my Soul I can’t,’ answered Sophia. ‘Then die and be d—ned,’ cries he, spurning her from him. ‘Oh! Sir,’ cries Sophia, catching hold of the Skirt of his Coat, ‘take Pity on me, I beseech you. Don’t look, and say such cruel—Can you be unmoved while you see your Sophy in this dreadful Condition? Can the best of Fathers break my Heart? Will he kill me by the most painful, cruel, lingering Death?’ ‘Pooh! Pooh!’ cries the Squire, ‘all Stuff and Nonsense, all maidenish Tricks. Kill you indeed! Will Marriage kill you?’—‘Oh! Sir,’ answered Sophia, ‘such a Marriage is worse than Death—He is not even indifferent, I hate and detest him.’—‘If you detest un never so much,’ cries Western, ‘you shall ha’ un.’ This he bound by an Oath too shocking to repeat, and after many violent Asseverations, concluded in these Words: ‘I am resolved upon the Match, and unless you consent to it, I will not give you a Groat, not a single Farthing; no, tho’ I saw you expiring with Famine in the Street, I would not relieve you with a Morsel of Bread. This is my fixed Resolution, and so I leave you to consider on it.’ He then broke from her with such Violence, that her Face dashed against the Floor, and he burst directly out of the Room, leaving poor Sophia prostrate on the Ground.
When Western came into the Hall, he there found Jones; who seeing his Friend looking wild, pale, and almost breathless, could not forbear enquiring the Reason of all these melancholy Appearances. Upon which the Squire immediately acquainted him with the whole Matter, concluding with bitter Denunciations against Sophia, and very pathetic Lamentations of the Misery of all Fathers who are so unfortunate to have Daughters.
Jones, to whom all the Resolutions which had been taken in Favour of Blifil were yet a Secret, was at first almost struck dead with this Relation; but recovering his Spirits a little, mere Despair, as he afterwards said, inspired him to mention a Matter to Mr. Western, which seemed to require more Impudence than a human Forehead was ever gifted with. He desired Leave to go to Sophia, that he might endeavour to obtain her Concurrence with her Father’s Inclinations.
If the Squire had been as quick-sighted, as he was remarkable for the contrary, Passion might at present very well have blinded him. He thanked Jones for offering to undertake the Office, and said, ‘Go, go, prithee, try what canst do;’ and then swore many execrable Oaths that he would turn her out of Doors unless she consented to the Match.
CHAPTER VIII.
The Meeting between Jones and Sophia.
Jones departed instantly in Quest of Sophia, whom he found just risen from the Ground where her Father had left her, with the Tears trickling from her Eyes, and the Blood running from her Lips. He presently ran to her, and with a Voice full at once of Tenderness and Terrour, cried, ‘O my Sophia, what means this dreadful Sight!’—She looked softly at him for a Moment before she spoke, and then said, ‘Mr. Jones, for Heaven’s Sake, how came you here?—Leave me, I beseech you, this Moment.’ ‘Do not,’ says he, ‘impose so harsh a Command upon me—my Heart bleeds faster than those Lips. O Sophia, how easily could I drain my Veins to preserve one Drop of that dear Blood.’ ‘I have too many Obligations to you already,’ answered she, ‘for sure you meant them such.’—Here she looked at him tenderly almost a Minute, and then bursting into an Agony, cried,—‘O Mr. Jones,—why did you save my Life?—my Death would have been happier for us both.’—‘Happier for us both!’ cried he, ‘Could Racks or Wheels kill me so painfully as Sophia’s!—I cannot bear the dreadful Sound—Do I live but for her?’—Both his Voice and Look were full of inexpressible Tenderness when he spoke these Words, and at the same Time he laid gently hold on her Hand, which she did not withdraw from him; to say the Truth, she hardly knew what she did or suffered. A few Moments now passed in Silence between these Lovers, while his Eyes were eagerly fixed on Sophia, and hers declining towards the Ground; at last she recovered Strength enough to desire him again to leave her; for that her certain Ruin would be the Consequence of their being found together; adding,— ‘O Mr. Jones, you know not, you know not what hath passed this cruel Afternoon.’ ‘I know all, my Sophia,’ answered he; ‘your cruel Father hath told me all, and he himself hath sent me hither to you.’ ‘My Father sent you to me!’ replied she, ‘sure you dream.’ ‘Would to Heaven,’ cries he, ‘it was but a Dream. O Sophia, your Father hath sent me to you, to be an Advocate for my odious Rival, to solicite you in his Favour—I took any Means to get Access to you—O speak to me, Sophia, comfort my bleeding Heart. Sure no one ever loved, ever doated like me. Do not unkindly withhold this dear, this soft, this gentle Hand—One Moment, perhaps, tears you for ever from me—Nothing less than this cruel Occasion could, I believe, have ever conquered the Respect and Awe, with which you have inspired me.’ She stood a Moment silent and covered with Confusion, then lifting up her Eyes gently towards him, she cried, ‘What would Mr. Jones have me say?’ ‘O do but promise,’ cries he, ‘that you never will give yourself to Blifil.’ ‘Name not,’ answered she, ‘the detested Sound. Be assured I never will give him what is in my Power to with-hold from him.’ ‘Now then,’ cries he, ‘while you are so perfectly kind, go a little farther, and add that I may hope.’—‘Alas,’ says she, ‘Mr. Jones, whither will you drive me? What Hope have I to bestow? You know my Father’s Intentions.’—‘But I know,’ answered he, ‘your Compliance with them cannot be compelled.’ ‘What,’ says she, ‘must be the dreadful Consequence of my Disobedience? My own Ruin is my least Concern. I cannot bear the Thoughts of being the Cause of my Father’s Misery.’ ‘He is himself the Cause,’ cries Jones, ‘by exacting
a Power over you which Nature hath not given him. Think on the Misery which I am to suffer, if I am to lose you, and see on which Side Pity will turn the Balance.’ ‘Think of it!’ replied she, ‘can you imagine I do not feel the Ruin which I must bring on you, should I comply with your Desire—It is that Thought which gives me Resolution to bid you fly from me for ever, and avoid your own Destruction.’ ‘I fear no Destruction,’ cries he, ‘but the Loss of Sophia; if you would save me from the most bitter Agonies, recall that cruel Sentence—Indeed, I can never part with you, indeed I cannot.’
The Lovers now stood both silent and trembling, Sophia being unable to withdraw her Hand from Jones, and he almost as unable to hold it; when the Scene, which I believe some of my Readers will think had lasted long enough, was interrupted by one of so different a Nature, that we shall reserve the Relation of it for a different Chapter.
CHAPTER IX.
Being of a much more tempestuous Kind than the former.
Before we proceed with what now happened to our Lovers, it may be proper to recount what had past in the Hall, during their tender Interview.
Soon after Jones had left Mr. Western in the Manner above-mentioned, his Sister came to him; and was presently informed of all that had past between her Brother and Sophia, relating to Blifil.
This Behaviour in her Niece, the good Lady construed to be an absolute Breach of the Condition, on which she had engaged to keep her Love for Mr. Jones a Secret. She considered herself, therefore, at full Liberty to reveal all she knew to the Squire, which she immediately did in the most explicite Terms, and without any Ceremony or Preface.
The Idea of a Marriage between Jones and his Daughter, had never once entered into the Squire’s Head, either in the warmest Minutes of his Affection towards that young Man, or from Suspicion, or on any other Occasion. He did indeed consider a Parity of Fortune and Circumstances, to be physically as necessary an Ingredient in Marriage, as Difference of Sexes, or any other Essential; and had no more Apprehension of his Daughter’s falling in Love with a poor Man, than with any Animal of a different Species.
He became, therefore, like one Thunderstruck at his Sister’s Relation. He was, at first, incapable of making any Answer, having been almost deprived of his Breath by the Violence of the Surprize. This, however, soon returned, and, as is usual in other Cases after an Intermission, with redoubled Force and Fury.
The first Use he made of the Power of Speech, after his Recovery from the sudden Effects of his Astonishment, was to discharge a round Volley of Oaths and Imprecations. After which he proceeded hastily to the Apartment, where he expected to find the Lovers, and murmured, or indeed, rather roared forth Intentions of Revenge every Step he went.
As when two Doves, or two Wood-pigeons, or as when Strephon and Phyllis1 (for that comes nearest to the Mark) are retired into some pleasant solitary Grove, to enjoy the delightful Conversation of Love; that bashful Boy who cannot speak in Public, and is never a good Companion to more than two at a Time. Here while every Object is serene, should hoarse Thunder burst suddenly through the shattered Clouds, and rumbling roll along the Sky, the frightened Maid starts from the mossy Bank or verdant Turf; the pale Livery of Death succeeds the red Regimentals in which Love had before drest her Cheeks; Fear shakes her whole Frame, and her Lover scarce supports her trembling, tottering Limbs.
Or as when two Gentlemen, Strangers to the wonderous Wit of the Place, are cracking a Bottle together at some Inn or Tavern at Salisbury, if the great Dowdy who acts the Part of a Madman, as well as some of his Setters-on do that of a Fool, should rattle his Chains, and dreadfully hum forth the grumbling Catch along the Gallery;2 the frighted Strangers stand aghast, scared at the horrid Sound, they seek some Place of Shelter from the approaching Danger, and if the well-barred Windows did admit their Exit, would venture their Necks to escape the threatning Fury now coming upon them.
So trembled poor Sophia, so turned she pale at the Noise of her Father, who in a Voice most dreadful to hear, came on swearing, cursing and vowing the Destruction of Jones. To say the Truth, I believe the Youth himself would, from some prudent Considerations, have preferred another Place of Abode at this Time, had his Terror on Sophia’s Account given him Liberty to reflect a Moment on what any otherways concerned himself, than as his Love made him partake whatever affected her.
And now the Squire having burst open the Door, beheld an Object which instantly suspended all his Fury against Jones; this was the ghastly Appearance of Sophia, who had fainted away in her Lover’s Arms. This tragical Sight Mr. Western no sooner beheld, than all his Rage forsook him, he roared for Help with his utmost Violence; ran first to his Daughter, then back to the Door, calling for Water, and then back again to Sophia, never considering in whose Arms she then was, nor perhaps once recollecting that there was such a Person in the World as Jones: For, indeed, I believe, the present Circumstances of his Daughter were now the sole Consideration which employed his Thoughts.
Mrs. Western and a great Number of Servants soon came to the Assistance of Sophia with Water, Cordials, and every Thing necessary on those Occasions. These were applied with such Success, that Sophia in a very few Minutes began to recover, and all the Symptoms of Life to return. Upon which she was presently led off by her own Maid and Mrs. Western; nor did that good Lady depart without leaving some wholesome Admonitions with her Brother, on the dreadful Effects of his Passion, or, as she pleased to call it, Madness.
The Squire, perhaps, did not understand this good Advice, as it was delivered in obscure Hints, Shrugs, and Notes of Admiration; at least, if he did understand it, he profited very little by it: For no sooner was he cured of his immediate Fears for his Daughter, than he relapsed into his former Frenzy, which must have produced an immediate Battle with Jones, had not Parson Supple, who was a very strong Man, been present, and by mere Force restrained the Squire from Acts of Hostility.
The Moment Sophia was departed, Jones advanced in a very suppliant Manner to Mr. Western, whom the Parson held in his Arms, and begged him to be pacified; for that, while he continued in such a Passion, it would be impossible to give him any Satisfaction.
‘I wull have Satisfaction o’thee,’ answered the Squire, ‘so doff thy Clothes. At unt half a Man, and I’ll lick thee as well as wast ever licked in thy Life.’ He then bespattered the Youth with Abundance of that Language, which passes between Country Gentlemen who embrace opposite Sides of the Question; with frequent Applications to him to salute that Part which is generally introduced into all Controversies, that arise among the lower Orders of the English Gentry, at Horse-races, Cock-matches, and other public Places. Allusions to this Part are likewise often made for the Sake of the Jest. And here, I believe, the Wit is generally misunderstood. In Reality, it lies in desiring another to kiss your A— for having just before threatened to kick his: For I have observed very accurately, that no one ever desires you to kick that which belongs to himself, nor offers to kiss this Part in another.
It may likewise seem surprizing, that in the many thousand kind Invitations of this Sort, which every one who hath conversed with Country Gentlemen must have heard, no one, I believe, hath ever seen a single Instance where the Desire hath been complied with. A great Instance of their Want of Politeness: For in Town, nothing can be more common than for the finest Gentlemen to perform this Ceremony every Day to their Superiors, without having that Favour once requested of them.
To all such Wit, Jones very calmly answered, ‘Sir, this Usage may, perhaps, cancel every other Obligation you have conferred on me; but there is one you can never cancel; nor will I be provoked by your Abuse, to lift my Hand against the Father of Sophia.’
At these Words the Squire grew still more outrageous than before; so that the Parson begged Jones to retire, saying, ‘You behold, Sir, how he waxeth wroth at your Abode here; therefore let me pray you not to tarry any longer. His Anger is too much kindled for you to commune with him at present. You had better, therefore, conclude your Visit, and refer what Matters y
ou have to urge in your Behalf to some other Opportunity.’
Jones accepted this Advice with Thanks, and immediately departed. The Squire now regained the Liberty of his Hands, and so much Temper as to express some Satisfaction in the Restraint which had been laid upon him; declaring that he should certainly have beat his Brains out; and adding, ‘It would have vexed one confoundedly to have been hanged for such a Rascal.’
The Parson now began to triumph in the Success of his Peacemaking Endeavours, and proceeded to read a Lecture against Anger, which might perhaps rather have tended to raise than to quiet that Passion in some hasty Minds. This Lecture he enriched with many valuable Quotations from the Antients, particularly from Seneca;3 who hath, indeed, so well handled this Passion, that none but a very angry Man can read him without great Pleasure and Profit. The Doctor concluded this Harangue with the famous Story of Alexander and Clitus; but as I find that entered in my Common-Place under Title Drunkenness, I shall not insert it here.4
The Squire took no Notice of this Story, nor perhaps of any Thing he said: For he interrupted him before he had finished, by calling for a Tankard of Beer; observing (which is perhaps as true as any Observation on this Fever of the Mind) that Anger makes a Man dry.
No sooner had the Squire swallowed a large Draught than he renewed the Discourse on Jones, and declared a Resolution of going the next Morning early to acquaint Mr. Allworthy. His Friend would have dissuaded him from this, from the mere Motive of Good-nature; but his Dissuasion had no other Effect than to produce a large Volley of Oaths and Curses, which greatly shocked the pious Ears of Supple; but he did not dare to remonstrate against a Privilege, which the Squire claimed as a free-born Englishman. To say Truth, the Parson submitted to please his Palate at the Squire’s Table, at the Expence of suffering now and then this Violence to his Ears. He contented himself with thinking he did not promote this evil Practice, and that the Squire would not swear an Oath the less, if he never entered within his Gates. However, tho’ he was not guilty of ill Manners by rebuking a Gentleman in his own House, he paid him off obliquely in the Pulpit; which had not, indeed, the good Effect of working a Reformation in the Squire himself; yet it so far operated on his Conscience, that he put the Laws very severely in Execution against others, and the Magistrate was the only Person in the Parish who could swear with Impunity.
The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics) Page 36
