The History of Tom Jones (Penguin Classics)

by Henry Fielding

  ‘But I am afraid, my Dear, I shall tire you with a Detail of so many minute Circumstances. To be concise therefore, imagine me married; imagine me, with my Husband, at the Feet of my Aunt; and then imagine the maddest Woman in Bedlam in a raving Fit, and your Imagination will suggest to you no more than what really happened.

  ‘The very next Day my Aunt left the Place, partly to avoid seeing Mr. Fitzpatrick or myself, and as much perhaps to avoid seeing any one else; for, tho’ I am told she hath since denied every thing stoutly, I believe she was then a little confounded at her Disappointment. Since that Time I have written to her many Letters; but never could obtain an Answer, which I must own sits somewhat the heavier, as she herself was, tho’ undesignedly, the Occasion of all my Sufferings: For had it not been under the Colour of paying his Addresses to her, Mr. Fitzpatrick would never have found sufficient Opportunities to have engaged my Heart, which, in other Circumstances, I still flatter myself would not have been an easy Conquest to such a Person. Indeed, I believe, I should not have erred so grosly in my Choice, if I had relied on my own Judgment; but I trusted totally to the Opinion of others, and very foolishly took the Merit of a Man for granted, whom I saw so universally well received by the Women. What is the Reason, my Dear, that we who have Understandings equal to the wisest and greatest of the other Sex, so often make Choice of the silliest Fellows for Companions and Favourites? It raises my Indignation to the highest Pitch, to reflect on the Numbers of Women of Sense who have been undone by Fools.’ Here she paused a Moment; but Sophia making no Answer, she proceeded as in the next Chapter.

  CHAPTER V.

  In which the History of Mrs. Fitzpatrick is continued.

  ‘We remained at Bath no longer than a Fortnight after our Wedding: For as to any Reconciliation with my Aunt, there were no Hopes; and of my Fortune, not one Farthing could be touched till I was of Age, of which I now wanted more than two Years. My Husband therefore was resolved to set out for Ireland; against which I remonstrated very earnestly, and insisted on a Promise which he had made me before our Marriage, that I should never take this Journey against my Consent; and indeed I never intended to consent to it; nor will any Body, I believe, blame me for that Resolution; but this, however, I never mentioned to my Husband, and petitioned only for the Reprieve of a Month; but he had fixed the Day, and to that Day he obstinately adhered.

  ‘The Evening before our Departure, as we were disputing this Point with great Eagerness on both Sides, he started suddenly from his Chair, and left me abruptly, saying, he was going to the Rooms.1 He was hardly out of the House, when I saw a Paper lying on the Floor, which, I suppose, he had carelessly pulled from his Pocket, together with his Handkerchief. This Paper I took up, and finding it to be a Letter, I made no Scruple to open and read it; and indeed I read it so often, that I can repeat it to you almost Word for Word. This then was the Letter.

  To Mr. Brian Fitzpatrick.

  Sir,

  Yours received, and am surprized you should use me in this Manner, as have never seen any of your Cash, unless for one Linsey-Woolsey Coat, and your Bill now is upwards of 150 l. Consider, Sir, how often you have fobbed me off with your being shortly to be married to this Lady, and t’other Lady; but I can neither live on Hopes or Promises, nor will my Woollen-draper take any such in Payment. You tell me you are secure of having either the Aunt or the Niece, and that you might have married the Aunt before this, whose Jointure2 you say is immense, but that you prefer the Niece on account of her ready Money. Pray, Sir, take a Fool’s Advice for once, and marry the first you can get. You will pardon my offering my Advice, as you know I sincerely wish you well. Shall draw on you per next Post, in favour of Messieurs John Drugget and Company, at fourteen Days, which doubt not your honouring, and am,

  Sir,

  Your humble Servant,

  SAM.COSGRAVE.

  ‘This was the Letter Word for Word. Guess, my dear Girl, guess how this Letter affected me. You prefer the Niece on account of her Ready Money! If every one of these Words had been a Dagger, I could with Pleasure have stabbed them into his Heart; but I will not recount my frantic Behaviour on the Occasion. I had pretty well spent my Tears before his Return home; but sufficient Remains of them appeared in my swollen Eyes. He threw himself sullenly into his Chair, and for a long Time we were both silent. At length in a haughty Tone he said, “I hope, Madam, your Servants have packed up all your Things; for the Coach will be ready by Six in the Morning.” My Patience was totally subdued by this Provocation, and I answered, No, Sir, there is a Letter still remains unpacked; and then throwing it on the Table, I fell to upbraiding him with the most bitter Language I could invent.

  ‘Whether Guilt, or Shame, or Prudence, restrained him, I cannot say; but tho’ he is the most passionate of Men, he exerted no Rage on this Occasion. He endeavoured on the contrary to pacify me by the most gentle Means. He swore the Phrase in the Letter to which I principally objected was not his, nor had he ever written any such. He owned indeed the having mentioned his Marriage, and that Preference which he had given to myself, but denied with many Oaths the having assigned any such Reason. And he excused the having mentioned any such Matter at all, on account of the Straits he was in for Money, arising, he said, from his having too long neglected his Estate in Ireland. And this, he said, which he could not bear to discover to me, was the only Reason of his having so strenuously insisted on our Journey. He then used several very endearing Expressions, and concluded by a very fond Caress, and many violent Protestations of Love.

  ‘There was one Circumstance, which, tho’ he did not appeal to it, had much Weight with me in his Favour, and that was the Word Jointure in the Taylor’s Letter, whereas my Aunt never had been married, and this Mr. Fitzpatrick well knew.——As I imagined therefore that the Fellow must have inserted this of his own Head, or from Hearsay, I persuaded myself he might have ventured likewise on that odious Line on no better Authority. What Reasoning was this, my Dear? Was I not an Advocate rather than a Judge?— But why do I mention such a Circumstance as this, or appeal to it for the Justification of my Forgiveness!—In short, had he been guilty of twenty times as much, half the Tenderness and Fondness which he used, would have prevailed on me to have forgiven him. I now made no farther Objections to our setting out, which we did the next Morning, and in a little more than a Week arrived at the Seat of Mr. Fitzpatrick.

  ‘Your Curiosity will excuse me from relating any Occurrences which past during our Journey: For it would indeed be highly disagreeable to travel it over again, and no less so to you to travel it over with me.

  ‘This Seat then, is an ancient Mansion-House: If I was in one of those merry Humours, in which you have so often seen me, I could describe it to you ridiculously enough. It looked as if it had been formerly inhabited by a Gentleman. Here was Room enough, and not the less Room on account of the Furniture: For indeed there was very little in it. An old Woman, who seemed coeval with the Building, and greatly resembled her whom Chamont mentions in the Orphan,3 received us at the Gate, and in a Howl scarce human, and to me unintelligible, welcomed her Master home. In short, the whole Scene was so gloomy and melancholy, that it threw my Spirits into the lowest Dejection; which my Husband discerning, instead of relieving, encreased by two or three malicious Observations. “There are good Houses, Madam,” says he, “as you find, in other Places besides England; but perhaps you had rather be in a dirty Lodgings at Bath.”

  ‘Happy, my Dear, is the Woman, who in any State of Life, hath a cheerful good-natured Companion to support and comfort her; but why do I reflect on happy Situations only to aggravate my own Misery! My Companion, far from clearing up the Gloom of Solitude, soon convinced me, that I must have been wretched with him in any Place, and in any Condition. In a Word, he was a surly Fellow, a Character you have perhaps never seen: For indeed no Woman ever sees it exemplified, but in a Father, a Brother, or a Husband; and tho’ you have a Father, he is not of that Character. This surly Fellow had formerly appeared to me the very Rever
se, and so he did still to every other Person. Good Heaven! how is it possible for a Man to maintain a constant Lie in his Appearance abroad and in Company, and to content himself with shewing disagreeable Truth only at home? Here, my Dear, they make themselves Amends for the uneasy Restraint which they put on their Tempers in the World; for I have observed the more merry and gay and good-humoured my Husband hath at any Time been in Company, the more sullen and morose he was sure to become at our next private Meeting. How shall I describe his Barbarity? To my Fondness he was cold and insensible. My little comical Ways, which you, my Sophy, and which others have called so agreeable, he treated with Contempt. In my most serious Moments he sung and whistled; and whenever I was thoroughly dejected and miserable, he was angry, and abused me: For though he was never pleased with my good Humour, nor ascribed it to my Satisfaction in him; yet my low Spirits always offended him, and those he imputed to my Repentance of having (as he said) married an Irishman.

  ‘You will easily conceive, my dear Graveairs; (I ask your Pardon, I really forgot myself) that when a Woman makes an imprudent Match in the Sense of the World; that is, when she is not an arrant Prostitute to pecuniary Interest, she must necessarily have some Inclination and Affection for her Man. You will as easily believe that this Affection may possibly be lessened; nay, I do assure you, Contempt will wholly eradicate it. This Contempt I now began to entertain for my Husband, whom I now discovered to be—I must use the Expression—an arrant Blockhead. Perhaps you will wonder I did not make this Discovery long before; but Women will suggest a thousand Excuses to themselves for the Folly of those they like: Besides, give me Leave to tell you, it requires a most penetrating Eye to discern a Fool through the Disguises of Gayety and Good-breeding.

  ‘It will be easily imagined, that when I once despised my Husband, as I confess to you I soon did, I must consequently dislike his Company; and indeed I had the Happiness of being very little troubled with it; for our House was now most elegantly furnished, our Cellars well stocked, and Dogs and Horses provided in great Abundance. As my Gentleman therefore entertained his Neighbours with great Hospitality; so his Neighbours resorted to him with great Alacrity; and Sports and Drinking consumed so much of his Time, that a small Part of his Conversation, that is to say, of his Ill-humours, fell to my Share.

  ‘Happy would it have been for me, if I could as easily have avoided all other disagreeable Company; but alas! I was confined to some which constantly tormented me; and the more, as I saw no Prospect of being relieved from them. These Companions were my own racking Thoughts, which plagued, and in a manner haunted me Night and Day. In this Situation I past through a Scene, the Horrors of which can neither be painted nor imagined. Think, my Dear, figure, if you can, to yourself what I must have undergone. I became a Mother by the Man I scorned, hated, and detested. I went through all the Agonies and Miseries of a Lying-in, (ten Times more painful in such a Circumstance, than the worst Labour can be, when one endures it for a Man one loves,) in a Desert, or rather indeed a Scene of Riot and Revel, without a Friend, without a Companion, or without any of those agreeable Circumstances which often alleviate, and perhaps sometimes more than compensate the Sufferings of our Sex at that Season.’

  CHAPTER VI.

  In which the Mistake of the Landlord throws Sophia

  into a dreadful Consternation.

  Mrs. Fitzpatrick was proceeding in her Narrative, when she was interrupted by the Entrance of Dinner, greatly to the Concern of Sophia: For the Misfortunes of her Friend had raised her Anxiety, and left her no Appetite, but what Mrs. Fitzpatrick was to satisfy by her Relation.

  The Landlord now attended with a Plate under his Arm, and with the same Respect in his Countenance and Address, which he would have put on, had the Ladies arrived in a Coach and Six.

  The married Lady seemed less affected with her own Misfortunes than was her Cousin: For the former eat very heartily, whereas the latter could hardly swallow a Morsel. Sophia likewise shewed more Concern and Sorrow in her Countenance than appeared in the other Lady; who having observed these Symptoms in her Friend, begged her to be comforted, saying, ‘Perhaps all may yet end better than either you or I expect.’

  Our Landlord thought he had now an Opportunity to open his Mouth, and was resolved not to omit it. ‘I am sorry, Madam,’ cries he, ‘that your Ladyship can’t eat; for to be sure you must be hungry after so long fasting. I hope your Ladyship is not uneasy at any thing: For, as Madam there says, all may end better than any body expects. A Gentleman who was here just now, brought excellent News; and perhaps some Folks who have given other Folks the Slip, may get to London before they are overtaken; and if they do, I make no Doubt, but they will find People who will be very ready to receive them.’

  All Persons under the Apprehension of Danger convert whatever they see and hear into the Objects of that Apprehension. Sophia therefore immediately concluded from the foregoing Speech, that she was known and pursued by her Father. She was now struck with the utmost Consternation, and for a few Minutes deprived of the Power of Speech; which she no sooner recovered, than she desired the Landlord to send his Servants out of the Room, and then addressing herself to him, said: ‘I perceive, Sir, you know who we are; but I beseech you;—nay, I am convinced, if you have any Compassion or Goodness, you will not betray us.’

  ‘I betray your Ladyship!’ quoth the Landlord; ‘No;’ (and then he swore several very hearty Oaths) ‘I would sooner be cut into ten thousand Pieces. I hate all Treachery. I! I never betrayed any one in my Life yet, and I am sure I shall not begin with so sweet a Lady as your Ladyship. All the World would very much blame me if I should, since it will be in your Ladyship’s Power so shortly to reward me. My Wife can witness for me, I knew your Ladyship the Moment you came into the House: I said it was your Honour, before I lifted you from your Horse, and I shall carry the Bruises I got in your Ladyship’s Service to the Grave; but what signified that, as long as I saved your Ladyship? To be sure some People this Morning would have thought of getting a Reward; but no such Thought ever entered into my Head. I would sooner starve than take any Reward for betraying your Ladyship.’

  ‘I promise you, Sir,’ says Sophia, ‘if it be ever in my Power to reward you, you shall not lose by your Generosity.’

  ‘Alack-a-day, Madam!’ answered the Landlord, ‘in your Ladyship’s Power! Heaven put it as much into your Will. I am only afraid your Honour will forget such a poor Man as an Innkeeper; but if your Ladyship should not, I hope you will remember what Reward I refused—refused! that is, I would have refused, and to be sure it may be called refusing; for I might have had it certainly; and to be sure you might have been in some Houses;—but for my Part, I would not methinks for the World have your Ladyship wrong me so much, as to imagine I ever thought of betraying you, even before I heard the good News.’

  ‘What News pray?’ says Sophia, somewhat eagerly.

  ‘Hath not your Ladyship heard it then?’ cries the Landlord, ‘nay, like enough: For I heard it only a few Minutes ago; and if I had never heard it, may the Devil fly away with me this Instant, if I would have betrayed your Honour; no, if I would, may I,’—Here he subjoined several dreadful Imprecations, which Sophia at last interrupted, and begged to know what he meant by the News.— He was going to answer, when Mrs. Honour came running into the Room, all pale and breathless, and cried out, ‘Madam, we are all undone, all ruined, they are come, they are come!’ These Words almost froze up the Blood of Sophia; but Mrs. Fitzpatrick asked Honour, who were come?—‘Who?’ answered she, ‘why the French; several hundred thousands of them are landed, and we shall be all murdered and ravished.’

  As a Miser, who hath in some well-built City a Cottage value Twenty Shillings, when at a Distance he is alarmed with the News of a Fire, turns pale and trembles at his Loss; but when he finds the beautiful Palaces only are burnt, and his own Cottage remains safe, he comes instantly to himself and smiles at his good Fortune: Or as (for we dislike something in the former Simile) the tender Mother, when ter
rified with the Apprehension that her darling Boy is drowned, is struck senseless and almost dead with Consternation; but when she is told that little Master is safe, and the Victory only with Twelve hundred brave Men gone to the Bottom,1 Life and Sense again return, maternal Fondness enjoys the sudden Relief from all its Fears, and the general Benevolence which at another Time would have deeply felt the dreadful Catastrophe, lies fast asleep in her Mind.

  So Sophia, than whom none was more capable of tenderly feeling the general Calamity of her Country, found such immediate Satisfaction from the Relief of those Terrors she had of being overtaken by her Father, that the Arrival of the French scarce made any Impression on her. She gently chid her Maid for the Fright into which she had thrown her; and said, ‘she was glad it was no worse; for that she had feared somebody else was come.’

  ‘Ay, ay,’ quoth the Landlord smiling, ‘her Ladyship knows better Things; she knows the French are our very best Friends, and come over hither only for our Good. They are the People who are to make old England flourish again. I warrant her Honour thought the Duke was coming; and that was enough to put her into a Fright. I was going to tell your Ladyship the News.—His Honour’s Majesty, Heaven bless him, hath given the Duke the Slip; and is marching as fast as he can to London, and Ten thousand French are landed to join him on the Road.’