The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  This politic Person now taking his Wife aside, asked her, ‘What she thought of the Ladies lately arrived?’ ‘Think of them?’ said the Wife, ‘why what should I think of them?’ ‘I know,’ answered he, ‘what I think. The Guides tell strange Stories. One pretends to be come from Gloucester, and the other from Upton; and neither of them, for what I can find, can tell whither they are going. But what People ever travel across the Country from Upton hither, especially to London? And one of the Maid-Servants, before she alighted from her Horse, asked, if this was not the London Road? Now I have put all these Circumstances together, and whom do you think I have found them out to be?’ ‘Nay,’ answered she, ‘you know I never pretend to guess at your Discoveries.’—‘It is a good Girl,’ replied he, chucking her under the Chin; ‘I must own you have always submitted to my Knowledge of these Matters. Why then, depend upon it; mind what I say,—depend upon it, they are certainly some of the Rebel Ladies, who, they say, travel with the young Chevalier;2 and have taken a roundabout Way to escape the Duke’s Army.’

  ‘Husband,’ quoth the Wife, ‘you have certainly hit it; for one of them is drest as fine as any Princess; and, to be sure, she looks for all the World like one.—But yet, when I consider one Thing.’— ‘When you consider,’ cries the Landlord contemptuously——‘Come, pray let’s hear what you consider.’——‘Why it is,’ answered the Wife, ‘that she is too humble to be any very great Lady; for while our Betty was warming the Bed, she called her nothing but Child, and my Dear, and Sweetheart; and when Betty offered to pull off her Shoes and Stockings, she would not suffer her, saying, she would not give her the Trouble.’

  ‘Pugh!’ answered the Husband, ‘That is nothing. Dost think, because you have seen some great Ladies rude and uncivil to Persons below them, that none of them know how to behave themselves when they come before their Inferiors? I think I know People of Fashion when I see them. I think I do. Did not she call for a Glass of Water when she came in? Another Sort of Women would have called for a Dram; you know they would. If she be not a Woman of very great Quality, sell me for a Fool; and, I believe, those who buy me will have a bad Bargain. Now, would a Woman of her Quality travel without a Footman, unless upon some such extraordinary Occasion?’ ‘Nay, to be sure, Husband,’ cries she, ‘you know these Matters better than I, or most Folk.’ ‘I think I do know something,’ said he. ‘To be sure,’ answered the Wife, ‘the poor little Heart looked so piteous, when she sat down in the Chair, I protest I could not help having a Compassion for her, almost as much as if she had been a poor Body. But what’s to be done, Husband? If an she be a Rebel, I suppose you intend to betray her up to the Court. Well, she’s a sweet-tempered, good-humoured Lady, be she what she will, and I shall hardly refrain from crying when I hear she is hanged or beheaded.’ ‘Pooh,’ answered the Husband!——‘But as to what’s to be done it is not so easy a Matter to determine. I hope, before she goes away, we shall have the News of a Battle: For if the Chevalier should get the better, she may gain us Interest at Court, and make our Fortunes without betraying her.’ ‘Why that’s true,’ replied the Wife; ‘and I heartily hope she will have it in her Power. Certainly she’s a sweet good Lady; it would go horribly against me to have her come to any Harm.’ ‘Pooh,’ cries the Landlord, ‘Women are always so tender-hearted. Why you would not harbour Rebels, would you?’ ‘No, certainly,’ answered the Wife; ‘and as for betraying her, come what will on’t, nobody can blame us. It is what any body would do in our Case.’

  While our politic Landlord, who had not, we see, undeservedly the Reputation of great Wisdom among his Neighbours, was engaged in debating this Matter with himself, (for he paid little Attention to the Opinion of his Wife) News arrived that the Rebels had given the Duke the Slip, and had got a Day’s March towards London; and soon after arrived a famous Jacobite Squire, who, with great Joy in his Countenance, shook the Landlord by the Hand, saying, ‘All’s our own, Boy, Ten thousand honest Frenchmen are landed in Suffolk. Old England for ever! Ten thousand French, my brave Lad! I am going to tap away directly.’3

  This News determined the Opinion of the wise Man, and he resolved to make his Court to the young Lady, when she arose; for he had now (he said) discovered that she was no other than Madam Jenny Cameron herself.

  CHAPTER III.

  A very short Chapter, in which however is a Sun, a Moon, a Star, and an Angel.

  The Sun (for he keeps very good Hours at this Time of the Year) had been some Time retired to Rest, when Sophia arose greatly refreshed by her Sleep; which, short as it was, nothing but her extreme Fatigue could have occasioned; for tho’ she had told her Maid, and perhaps herself too, that she was perfectly easy, when she left Upton; yet it is certain her Mind was a little affected with that Malady which is attended with all the restless Symptoms of a Fever, and is perhaps the very Distemper which Physicians mean (if they mean any thing) by the Fever on the Spirits.1

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick likewise left her Bed at the same Time; and having summoned her Maid, immediately dressed herself. She was really a very pretty Woman, and had she been in any other Company but that of Sophia, might have been thought beautiful; but when Mrs. Honour of her own Accord attended, (for her Mistress would not suffer her to be waked) and had equipped our Heroine, the Charms of Mrs. Fitzpatrick who had performed the Office of the Morning-Star, and had preceded greater Glories, shared the Fate of that Star, and were totally eclipsed the Moment those Glories shone forth.

  Perhaps Sophia never looked more beautiful than she did at this Instant. We ought not therefore to condemn the Maid of the Inn for her Hyperbole; who when she descended, after having lighted the Fire, declared, and ratified it with an Oath, that if ever there was an Angel upon Earth, she was now above Stairs.

  Sophia had acquainted her Cousin with her Design to go to London; and Mrs. Fitzpatrick had agreed to accompany her; for the Arrival of her Husband at Upton had put an End to her Design of going to Bath, or to her Aunt Western. They had therefore no sooner finished their Tea, than Sophia proposed to set out, the Moon then shining extremely bright, and as for the Frost she defied it; nor had she any of those Apprehensions which many young Ladies would have felt at travelling by Night; for she had, as we have before observed, some little Degree of natural Courage; and this her present Sensations, which bordered somewhat on Despair, greatly encreased. Besides, as she had already travelled twice with Safety, by the Light of the Moon, she was the better emboldened to trust to it a third Time.

  The Disposition of Mrs. Fitzpatrick was more timorous; for tho’ the greater Terrors had conquered the less, and the Presence of her Husband had driven her away at so unseasonable an Hour from Upton; yet being now arrived at a Place where she thought herself safe from his Pursuit, these lesser Terrors of I know not what, operated so strongly, that she earnestly intreated her Cousin to stay till the next Morning, and not expose herself to the Dangers of travelling by Night.

  Sophia, who was yielding to an Excess, when she could neither laugh nor reason her Cousin out of these Apprehensions, at last gave way to them. Perhaps indeed, had she known of her Father’s Arrival at Upton, it might have been more difficult to have persuaded her; for as to Jones, she had, I am afraid, no great Horror at the Thoughts of being overtaken by him; nay, to confess the Truth, I believe she rather wished than feared it; though I might honestly enough have concealed this Wish from the Reader, as it was one of those secret spontaneous Emotions of the Soul, to which the Reason is often a Stranger.

  When our young Ladies had determined to remain all that Evening in their Inn, they were attended by the Landlady, who desired to know what their Ladyships would be pleased to eat. Such Charms were there in the Voice, in the Manner, and in the affable Deportment of Sophia, that she ravished the Landlady to the highest Degree; and that good Woman, concluding that she had attended Jenny Cameron, became in a Moment a staunch Jacobite, and wished heartily well to the young Pretender’s Cause, from the great Sweetness and Affability with which she had been treated by his s
upposed Mistress.

  The two Cousins began now to impart to each other their reciprocal Curiosity, to know what extraordinary Accidents on both Sides occasioned this so strange and unexpected Meeting. At last Mrs. Fitzpatrick, having obtained of Sophia a Promise of communicating likewise in her Turn, began to relate what the Reader, if he is desirous to know her History, may read in the ensuing Chapter.

  CHAPTER IV.

  The History of Mrs. Fitzpatrick.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick, after a Silence of a few Moments, fetching a deep Sigh, thus began:

  ‘It is natural to the Unhappy to feel a secret Concern in recollecting those Periods of their Lives which have been most delightful to them. The Remembrance of past Pleasures affects us with a kind of tender Grief, like what we suffer for departed Friends; and the Ideas of both may be said to haunt our Imaginations.

  ‘For this Reason, I never reflect without Sorrow on those Days (the happiest far of my Life) which we spent together, when both were under the Care of my Aunt Western. Alas! why are Miss Graveairs,1 and Miss Giddy no more? You remember, I am sure, when we knew each other by no other Names. Indeed you gave me the latter Appellation with too just Cause. I have since experienced how much I deserved it. You, my Sophia, was always my Superior in every thing, and I heartily hope you will be so in your Fortune. I shall never forget the wise and matronly Advice you once gave me, when I lamented being disappointed of a Ball, though you could not be then fourteen Years old.—O my Sophy, how blest must have been my Situation, when I could think such a Disappointment a Misfortune; and when indeed it was the greatest I had ever known!’

  ‘And yet, my dear Harriet,’ answered Sophia, ‘it was then a serious Matter with you. Comfort yourself therefore with thinking, that whatever you now lament may hereafter appear as trifling and contemptible as a Ball would at this Time.’

  ‘Alas, my Sophia,’ replied the other Lady, ‘you yourself will think otherwise of my present Situation; for greatly must that tender Heart be altered, if my Misfortunes do not draw many a Sigh, nay many a Tear, from you. The Knowledge of this should perhaps deter me from relating what I am convinced will so much affect you.’—Here Mrs. Fitzpatrick stopt, till at the repeated Entreaties of Sophia, she thus proceeded.

  ‘Though you must have heard much of my Marriage; yet as Matters may probably have been misrepresented, I will set out from the very Commencement of my unfortunate Acquaintance with my present Husband; which was at Bath, soon after you left my Aunt, and returned home to your Father.

  ‘Among the gay young Fellows, who were at this Season at Bath, Mr. Fitzpatrick was one. He was handsome, degagé, extremely gallant, and in his Dress exceeded most others. In short, my Dear, if you was unluckily to see him now, I could describe him no better than by telling you he was the very Reverse of every Thing which he is: For he hath rusticated himself so long, that he is become an absolute wild Irishman. But to proceed in my Story; the Qualifications which he then possessed so well recommended him, that though the People of Quality at that Time lived separate from the rest of the Company, and excluded them from all their Parties, Mr. Fitzpatrick found Means to gain Admittance. It was perhaps no easy Matter to avoid him; for he required very little or no Invitation; and as being handsome and genteel, he found it no very difficult Matter to ingratiate himself with the Ladies; so, he having frequently drawn his Sword, the Men did not care publickly to affront him. Had it not been for some such Reason, I believe he would have been soon expelled by his own Sex; for surely he had no strict Title to be preferred to the English Gentry; nor did they seem inclined to shew him any extraordinary Favour. They all abused him behind his Back, which might probably proceed from Envy; for by the Women he was well received, and very particularly distinguished by them.

  ‘My Aunt, tho’ no Person of Quality herself, as she had always lived about the Court, was enrolled in that Party: For by whatever Means you get into the Polite Circle, when you are once there, it is sufficient Merit for you that you are there. This Observation, young as you was, you could scarce avoid making from my Aunt, who was free, or reserved, with all People just as they had more or less of this Merit.

  ‘And this Merit, I believe, it was, which principally recommended Mr. Fitzpatrick to her Favour. In which he so well succeeded, that he was always one of her private Parties. Nor was he backward in returning such Distinction; for he soon grew so very particular in his Behaviour to her, that the Scandal Club first began to take Notice of it, and the better disposed Persons made a Match between them. For my own Part, I confess, I made no Doubt but that his Designs were strictly honourable, as the Phrase is; that is, to rob a Lady of her Fortune by way of Marriage. My Aunt was, I conceived, neither young enough nor handsome enough, to attract much wicked Inclination; but she had matrimonial Charms in great Abundance.

  ‘I was the more confirmed in this Opinion from the extraordinary Respect which he shewed to myself, from the first Moment of our Acquaintance. This I understood as an Attempt to lessen, if possible, that Disinclination which my Interest might be supposed to give me towards the Match; and I know not but in some Measure it had that Effect: For as I was well contented with my own Fortune, and of all People the least a Slave to interested Views; so I could not be violently the Enemy of a Man with whose Behaviour to me I was greatly pleased; and the more so, as I was the only Object of such Respect; for he behaved at the same Time to many Women of Quality without any Respect at all.

  ‘Agreeable as this was to me, he soon changed it into another Kind of Behaviour, which was perhaps more so. He now put on much Softness and Tenderness, and languished and sighed abundantly. At Times indeed, whether from Art or Nature I will not determine, he gave his usual Loose to Gayety and Mirth; but this was always in general Company, and with other Women; for even in a Country-Dance, when he was not my Partner, he became grave; and put on the softest Look imaginable, the Moment he approached me. Indeed he was in all Things so very particular towards me, that I must have been blind not to have discovered it. And, and, and—’ ‘And you was more pleased still, my dear Harriet,’ cries Sophia; ‘you need not be ashamed,’ added she sighing; ‘for sure there are irresistible Charms in Tenderness, which too many Men are able to affect.’ ‘True,’ answered her Cousin, ‘Men, who in all other Instances want common Sense, are very Machiavels in the Art of Loving. I wish I did not know an Instance.—Well, Scandal now began to be as busy with me as it had before been with my Aunt; and some good Ladies did not scruple to affirm, that Mr. Fitzpatrick had an Intrigue with us both.

  ‘But what may seem astonishing; my Aunt never saw, nor in the least seemed to suspect that which was visible enough, I believe, from both our Behaviours. One would indeed think, that Love quite puts out the Eyes of an old Woman. In Fact, they so greedily swallow the Addresses which are made to them, that like an outrageous Glutton, they are not at Leisure to observe what passes amongst others at the same Table. This I have observed in more Cases than my own; and this was so strongly verified by my Aunt, that, tho’ she often found us together at her Return from the Pump,2 the least canting Word of his, pretending Impatience at her Absence, effectually smothered all Suspicion. One Artifice succeeded with her to Admiration. This was his treating me like a little Child, and never calling me by any other Name in her Presence, but that of pretty Miss. This indeed did him some Disservice with your humble Servant; but I soon saw through it, especially as in her Absence he behaved to me, as I have said, in a different Manner. However, if I was not greatly disobliged by a Conduct of which I had discovered the Design, I smarted very severely for it: For my Aunt really conceived me to be what her Lover (as she thought him) called me, and treated me, in all Respects, as a perfect Infant. To say the Truth, I wonder she had not insisted on my again wearing Leading-strings.

  ‘At last, my Lover (for so he was) thought proper, in a most solemn Manner, to disclose a Secret which I had known long before. He now placed all the Love which he had pretended to my Aunt to my Account. He lamented, in very pathetic Te
rms, the Encouragement she had given him, and made a high Merit of the tedious Hours, in which he had undergone her Conversation.— What shall I tell you, my dear Sophia?—Then I will confess the Truth. I was pleased with my Man. I was pleased with my Conquest. To rival my Aunt delighted me; to rival so many other Women charmed me. In short, I am afraid, I did not behave as I should do, even upon the very first Declaration.—I wish I did not almost give him positive Encouragement before we parted.

  ‘The Bath now talked loudly, I might almost say, roared against me. Several young Women affected to shun my Acquaintance, not so much, perhaps, from any real Suspicion, as from a Desire of banishing me from a Company, in which I too much engrossed their favourite Man. And here I cannot omit expressing my Gratitude to the Kindness intended me by Mr. Nash;3 who took me one Day aside, and gave me Advice, which if I had followed, I had been a happy Woman. “Child,” says he, “I am sorry to see the Familiarity which subsists between you and a Fellow who is altogether unworthy of you, and I am afraid will prove your Ruin. As for your old stinking Aunt, if it was to be no Injury to you, and pretty Sophy Western, (I assure you I repeat his Words) I should be heartily glad, that the Fellow was in Possession of all that belongs to her. I never advise old Women: For if they take it into their Heads to go to the Devil, it is no more possible, than worth while, to keep them from him. Innocence and Youth and Beauty are worthy a better Fate, and I would save them from his Clutches. Let me advise you therefore, dear Child, never suffer this Fellow to be particular with you again.”—Many more Things he said to me, which I have now forgotten, and indeed I attended very little to them at that Time: For Inclination contradicted all he said; and besides I could not be persuaded, that Women of Quality would condescend to Familiarity with such a Person as he described.