The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  BOOK VII.

  Containing three Days.

  CHAPTER I.

  A Comparison between the World and the Stage.

  The World hath been often compared to the Theatre;1 and many grave Writers, as well as the Poets, have considered human Life as a great Drama, resembling, in almost every Particular, those scenical Representations, which Thespis is first reported to have invented, and which have been since received with so much Approbation and Delight in all polite Countries.

  This Thought hath been carried so far, and is become so general, that some Words proper to the Theatre, and which were, at first, metaphorically applied to the World, are now indiscriminately and literally spoken of both: Thus Stage and Scene are by common Use grown as familiar to us, when we speak of Life in general, as when we confine ourselves to dramatic Performances; and when Transactions behind the Curtain are mentioned, St. James’s is more likely to occur to our Thoughts than Drury Lane.2

  It may seem easy enough to account for all this, by reflecting that the theatrical Stage is nothing more than a Representation, or, as Aristotle calls it, an Imitation of what really exists; and hence, perhaps, we might fairly pay a very high Compliment to those, who by their Writings or Actions have been so capable of imitating Life, as to have their Pictures in a Manner confounded with, or mistaken for the Originals.

  But, in Reality, we are not so fond of paying Compliments to these People, whom we use as Children frequently do the Instruments of their Amusement; and have much more Pleasure in hissing and buffeting them, than in admiring their Excellence. There are many other Reasons which have induced us to see this Analogy between the World and the Stage.

  Some have considered the larger Part of Mankind in the Light of Actors, as personating Characters no more their own, and to which, in Fact, they have no better Title, than the Player hath to be in Earnest thought the King or Emperor whom he represents. Thus the Hypocrite may be said to be a Player; and indeed the Greeks called them both by one and the same Name.3

  The Brevity of Life hath likewise given Occasion to this Comparison. So the immortal Shakespear.

  ———Life’s a poor Player,

  That struts and frets his Hour upon the Stage,

  And then is heard no more.4

  For which hackneyed Quotation, I will make the Reader Amends by a very noble one, which few, I believe, have read. It is taken from a Poem called the DEITY, published about nine Years ago, and long since buried in Oblivion.5 A Proof that good Books no more than good Men do always survive the bad.

  From thee* all human Actions take their Springs,

  The Rise of Empires and the Fall of Kings!

  See the VAST THEATRE OF TIME display’d,

  While o’er the Scene succeeding Heroes tread!

  With Pomp the shining Images succeed,

  What Leaders Triumph, and what Monarchs bleed!

  Perform the Parts thy Providence assign’d,

  Their Pride, their Passions to thy Ends inclin’d:

  A while they glitter in the Face of Day,

  Then at thy Nod the Phantoms pass away;

  No Traces left of all the busy Scene,

  But that Remembrance joys—THE THINGS HAVE BEEN!

  In all these, however, and in every other Similitude of Life to the Theatre, the Resemblance hath been always taken from the Stage only. None, as I remember, have at all considered the Audience at this great Drama.

  But as Nature often exhibits some of her best Performances to a very full House; so will the Behaviour of her Spectators no less admit the above mentioned Comparison than that of her Actors. In this vast Theatre of Time are seated the Friend and the Critic; here are Claps and Shouts, Hisses and Groans; in short, every Thing which was ever seen or heard at the Theatre-Royal.

  Let us examine this in one Example: For Instance, in the Behaviour of the great Audience on that Scene which Nature was pleased to exhibit in the 12th Chapter of the preceding Book, where she introduced Black George running away with the 500l. from his Friend and Benefactor.

  Those who sat in the World’s upper Gallery, treated that Incident, I am well convinced, with their usual Vociferation; and every Term of scurrilous Reproach was most probably vented on that Occasion.

  If we had descended to the next Order of Spectators, we should have found an equal Degree of Abhorrence, tho’ less of Noise and Scurrility; yet here the good Women gave Black George to the Devil, and many of them expected every Minute that the cloven footed Gentleman would fetch his own.

  The Pit, as usual, was no doubt divided: Those who delight in heroic Virtue and perfect Character, objected to the producing such Instances of Villainy, without punishing them very severely for the Sake of Example. Some of the Author’s Friends cry’d— ‘Look’e, Gentlemen, the Man is a Villain; but it is Nature for all that.’ And all the young Critics of the Age, the Clerks, Apprentices, & c. called it low, and fell a groaning.

  As for the Boxes, they behaved with their accustomed Politeness. Most of them were attending to something else. Some of those few who regarded the Scene at all, declared he was a bad Kind of Man; while others refused to give their Opinion, ’till they had heard that of the best Judges.

  Now we, who are admitted behind the Scenes of this great Theatre of Nature, (and no Author ought to write any Thing besides Dictionaries and Spelling Books who hath not this Privilege) can censure the Action, without conceiving any absolute Detestation of the Person, whom perhaps Nature may not have designed to act an ill Part in all her Dramas: For in this Instance, Life most exactly resembles the Stage, since it is often the same Person who represents the Villain and the Heroe; and he who engages your Admiration To-day, will probably attract your Contempt To-morrow. As Garrick, whom I regard in Tragedy to be the greatest Genius the World hath ever produced, sometimes condescends to play the Fool; so did Scipio the Great and Lælius the Wise, according to Horace, many Years ago: nay, Cicero reports them to have been ‘incredibly childish.’6——These, it is true, played the Fool, like my Friend Garrick, in Jest only; but several eminent Characters have, in numberless Instances of their Lives, played the Fool egregiously in Earnest; so far as to render it a Matter of some Doubt, whether their Wisdom or Folly was predominant; or whether they were better intitled to the Applause or Censure, the Admiration or Contempt, the Love or Hatred of Mankind.

  Those Persons, indeed, who have passed any Time behind the Scenes of this great Theatre, and are thoroughly acquainted not only with the several Disguises which are there put on, but also with the fantastic and capricious Behaviour of the Passions, who are the Managers and Directors of this Theatre, (for as to Reason the Patentee,7 he is known to be a very idle Fellow, and seldom to exert himself) may most probably have learned to understand the famous Nil admirari of Horace, or in the English Phrase, To stare at nothing.8

  A single bad act no more constitutes a Villain in Life, than a single bad Part on the Stage. The Passions, like the Managers of a Playhouse, often force Men upon Parts, without consulting their Judgment, and sometimes without any Regard to their Talents. Thus the Man, as well as the Player, may condemn what he himself acts; nay, it is common to see Vice sit as awkwardly on some Men, as the Character of Iago would on the honest Face of Mr. William Mills.9

  Upon the whole, then, the Man of Candour and of true Understanding is never hasty to condemn. He can censure an Imperfection, or even a Vice, without Rage against the guilty Party. In a Word, they are the same Folly, the same Childishness, the same Ill-breeding, and the same Ill-nature, which raise all the Clamours and Uproars both in Life and on the Stage. The worst of Men generally have the Words Rogue and Villain most in their Mouths, as the lowest of all Wretches are the aptest to cry out low in the Pit.

  CHAPTER II.

  Containing a Conversation which Mr. Jones had with himself.

  Jones received his Effects from Mr. Allworthy’s early in the Morning, with the following Answer to his Letter.

  SIR,

  I Am commanded by my
Uncle to acquaint you, that as he did not proceed to those Measures he had taken with you, without the greatest Deliberation, and after the fullest Evidence of your Unworthiness, so will it be always out of your Power to cause the least Alteration in his Resolution. He expresses great Surprize at your Presumption in saying, you have resigned all Pretensions to a young Lady, to whom it is impossible you should ever have had any, her Birth and Fortune having made her so infinitely your Superior. Lastly, I am commanded to tell you, that the only Instance of your Compliance with my Uncle’s Inclinations, which he requires, is, your immediately quitting this Country. I cannot conclude this without offering you my Advice, as a Christian, that you would seriously think of amending your Life: That you may be assisted with Grace so to do, will be always the Prayer of

  Your humble Servant,

  W. BLIFIL.

  Many contending Passions were raised in our Heroe’s Mind by this Letter; but the Tender prevailed at last over the Indignant and Irascible, and a Flood of Tears came seasonably to his Assistance, and possibly prevented his Misfortunes from either turning his Head, or bursting his Heart.

  He grew, however, soon ashamed of indulging this Remedy; and starting up, he cried, ‘Well then, I will give Mr. Allworthy the only Instance he requires of my Obedience. I will go this Moment—but whither?—why let Fortune direct; since there is no other who thinks it of any Consequence what becomes of this wretched Person, it shall be a Matter of equal Indifference to myself. Shall I alone regard what no other?——Ha! have I not Reason to think there is another?—One whose Value is above that of the whole World!—I may, I must imagine my Sophia is not indifferent to what becomes of me. Shall I then leave this only Friend—And such a Friend? Shall I not stay with her?—Where? How can I stay with her? Have I any Hopes of ever seeing her, tho’ she was as desirous as myself, without exposing her to the Wrath of her Father? And to what Purpose? Can I think of soliciting such a Creature to consent to her own Ruin? Shall I indulge any Passion of mine at such a Price?—Shall I lurk about this Country like a Thief, with such Intentions?—No, I disdain, I detest the Thought. Farewel, Sophia; farewel most lovely, most beloved—’ Here Passion stopped his Mouth, and found a Vent at his Eyes.

  And now, having taken a Resolution to leave the Country, he began to debate with himself whither he should go. The World, as Milton phrases it, lay all before him;1 and Jones, no more than Adam, had any Man to whom he might resort for Comfort or Assistance. All his Acquaintance were the Acquaintance of Mr. Allworthy, and he had no Reason to expect any Countenance from them, as that Gentleman had withdrawn his Favour from him. Men of great and good Characters should indeed be very cautious how they discard their Dependents; for the Consequence to the unhappy Sufferer is being discarded by all others.

  What Course of Life to pursue, or to what Business to apply himself, was a second Consideration; and here the Prospect was all a melancholy Void. Every Profession, and every Trade, required Length of Time, and what was worse, Money; for Matters are so constituted that ‘Nothing out of Nothing’2 is not a truer Maxim in Physics than in Politics; and every Man who is greatly destitute of Money, is on that Account entirely excluded from all Means of acquiring it.

  At last the Ocean, that hospitable Friend to the Wretched, opened her capacious Arms to receive him; and he instantly resolved to accept her kind Invitation. To express myself less figuratively, he determined to go to Sea.

  This Thought indeed no sooner suggested itself, than he eagerly embraced it; and having presently hired Horses, he set out for Bristol to put it in Execution.

  But before we attend him on this Expedition, we shall resort a while to Mr. Western’s, and see what farther happened to the charming Sophia.

  CHAPTER III.

  Containing several Dialogues.

  The Morning in which Mr. Jones departed, Mrs. Western summoned Sophia into her Apartment, and having first acquainted her that she had obtained her Liberty of her Father, she proceeded to read her a long Lecture on the Subject of Matrimony; which she treated not as a romantic Scheme of Happiness arising from Love, as it hath been described by the Poets; nor did she mention any of those Purposes for which we are taught by Divines to regard it as instituted by sacred Authority; she considered it rather as a Fund in which prudent Women deposite their Fortunes to the best Advantage, in order to receive a larger Interest for them than they could have elsewhere.

  When Mrs. Western had finished, Sophia answered, ‘That she was very incapable of arguing with a Lady of her Aunt’s superior Knowledge and Experience, especially on a Subject which she had so very little considered, as this of Matrimony.’

  ‘Argue with me, Child!’ replied the other, ‘I do not indeed expect it. I should have seen the World to very little Purpose truly, if I am to argue with one of your Years. I have taken this Trouble, in order to instruct you. The antient Philosophers, such as Socrates, Alcibiades, and others, did not use to argue with their Scholars. You are to consider me, Child, as Socrates, not asking your Opinion, but only informing you of mine.’ From which last Words the Reader may possibly imagine, that this Lady had read no more of the Philosophy of Socrates, than she had of that of Alcibiades;1 and indeed we cannot resolve his Curiosity as to this Point.

  ‘Madam,’ cries Sophia, ‘I have never presumed to controvert any Opinion of yours; and this Subject, as I said, I have never yet thought of, and perhaps never may.’

  ‘Indeed Sophy,’ replied the Aunt, ‘this Dissimulation with me is very foolish. The French shall as soon persuade me, that they take foreign Towns in Defence only of their own Country, as you can impose on me to believe you have never yet thought seriously of Matrimony. How can you, Child, affect to deny that you have considered of contracting an Alliance, when you so well know I am acquainted with the Party with whom you desire to contract it? An Alliance as unnatural, and contrary to your Interest, as a separate League with the French would be to the Interest of the Dutch!2 But however, if you have not hitherto considered of this Matter, I promise you it is now high Time; for my Brother is resolved immediately to conclude the Treaty with Mr. Blifil; and indeed I am a sort of Guarantee in the Affair, and have promised your Concurrence.’

  ‘Indeed, Madam,’ cries Sophia, ‘this is the only Instance in which I must disobey both yourself and my Father. For this is a Match which requires very little Consideration in me to refuse.’

  ‘If I was not as great a Philosopher as Socrates himself,’ returned Mrs. Western, ‘you would overcome my Patience. What Objection can you have to the young Gentleman?’

  ‘A very solid Objection, in my Opinion,’ says Sophia,—‘I hate him.’

  ‘Will you never learn a proper Use of Words?’ answered the Aunt. ‘Indeed, Child, you should consult Bailey’s Dictionary.3 It is impossible you should hate a Man from whom you have received no Injury. By Hatred, therefore, you mean no more than Dislike, which is no sufficient Objection against your marrying of him. I have known many Couples, who have entirely disliked each other, lead very comfortable, genteel Lives. Believe me, Child, I know these Things better than you. You will allow me, I think, to have seen the World, in which I have not an Acquaintance who would not rather be thought to dislike her Husband, than to like him. The contrary is such out-of-Fashion romantic Nonsense, that the very Imagination of it is shocking.’

  ‘Indeed, Madam,’ replied Sophia, ‘I shall never marry a Man I dislike. If I promise my Father never to consent to any Marriage contrary to his Inclinations, I think I may hope he will never force me into that State contrary to my own.’

  ‘Inclinations!’ cries the Aunt, with some Warmth. ‘Inclinations! I am astonished at your Assurance. A young Woman of your Age, and unmarried, to talk of Inclinations! But whatever your Inclinations may be, my Brother is resolved; nay, since you talk of Inclinations, I shall advise him to hasten the Treaty. Inclinations!’

  Sophia then flung herself upon her Knees, and Tears began to trickle from her shining Eyes. She entreated her Aunt ‘to have Mercy upon h
er, and not to resent so cruelly her Unwillingness to make herself miserable; often urging, that she alone was concerned, and that her Happiness only was at Stake.’

  As a Bailiff, when well authorised by his Writ, having possessed himself of the Person of some unhappy Debtor, views all his Tears without Concern: In vain the wretched Captive attempts to raise Compassion; in vain the tender Wife bereft of her Companion, the little prattling Boy, or frighted Girl, are mentioned as Inducements to Reluctance. The noble Bumtrap,4 blind and deaf to every Circumstance of Distress, greatly rises above all the Motives to Humanity, and into the Hands of the Goaler resolves to deliver his miserable Prey.

  Not less blind to the Tears, or less deaf to every Entreaty of Sophia was the politic Aunt, nor less determined was she to deliver over the trembling Maid into the Arms of the Goaler Blifil. She answered with great Impetuosity, ‘So far, Madam, from your being concerned alone, your Concern is the least, or surely the least important. It is the Honour of your Family which is concerned in this Alliance; you are only the Instrument. Do you conceive, Mistress, that in an Intermarriage between Kingdoms, as when a Daughter of France is married into Spain, the Princess herself is alone considered in the Match?5 No, it is a Match between two Kingdoms, rather than between two Persons. The same happens in great Families, such as ours. The Alliance between the Families is the principal Matter. You ought to have a greater Regard for the Honour of your Family, than for your own Person; and if the Example of a Princess cannot inspire you with these noble Thoughts, you cannot surely complain at being used no worse than all Princesses are used.’