History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

by Henry Fielding

  Chapter iv.

  A little chapter, in which is contained a little incident.

  Among other visitants, who paid their compliments to the younggentleman in his confinement, Mrs Honour was one. The reader, perhaps,when he reflects on some expressions which have formerly dropt fromher, may conceive that she herself had a very particular affection forMr Jones; but, in reality, it was no such thing. Tom was a handsomeyoung fellow; and for that species of men Mrs Honour had some regard;but this was perfectly indiscriminate; for having being crossed in thelove which she bore a certain nobleman's footman, who had baselydeserted her after a promise of marriage, she had so securely kepttogether the broken remains of her heart, that no man had ever sincebeen able to possess himself of any single fragment. She viewed allhandsome men with that equal regard and benevolence which a sober andvirtuous mind bears to all the good. She might indeed be called alover of men, as Socrates was a lover of mankind, preferring one toanother for corporeal, as he for mental qualifications; but nevercarrying this preference so far as to cause any perturbation in thephilosophical serenity of her temper.

  The day after Mr Jones had that conflict with himself which we haveseen in the preceding chapter, Mrs Honour came into his room, andfinding him alone, began in the following manner:--"La, sir, where doyou think I have been? I warrants you, you would not guess in fiftyyears; but if you did guess, to be sure I must not tell youneither."--"Nay, if it be something which you must not tell me," saidJones, "I shall have the curiosity to enquire, and I know you will notbe so barbarous to refuse me."--"I don't know," cries she, "why Ishould refuse you neither, for that matter; for to be sure you won'tmention it any more. And for that matter, if you knew where I havebeen, unless you knew what I have been about, it would not signifymuch. Nay, I don't see why it should be kept a secret for my part; forto be sure she is the best lady in the world." Upon this, Jones beganto beg earnestly to be let into this secret, and faithfully promisednot to divulge it. She then proceeded thus:--"Why, you must know, sir,my young lady sent me to enquire after Molly Seagrim, and to seewhether the wench wanted anything; to be sure, I did not care to go,methinks; but servants must do what they are ordered.--How could youundervalue yourself so, Mr Jones?--So my lady bid me go and carry hersome linen, and other things. She is too good. If such forward slutswere sent to Bridewell, it would be better for them. I told my lady,says I, madam, your la'ship is encouraging idleness."--"And was mySophia so good?" says Jones. "My Sophia! I assure you, marry come up,"answered Honour. "And yet if you knew all--indeed, if I was as MrJones, I should look a little higher than such trumpery as MollySeagrim." "What do you mean by these words," replied Jones, "if I knewall?" "I mean what I mean," says Honour. "Don't you remember puttingyour hands in my lady's muff once? I vow I could almost find in myheart to tell, if I was certain my lady would never come to thehearing on't." Jones then made several solemn protestations. AndHonour proceeded--"Then to be sure, my lady gave me that muff; andafterwards, upon hearing what you had done"--"Then you told her what Ihad done?" interrupted Jones. "If I did, sir," answered she, "you neednot be angry with me. Many's the man would have given his head to havehad my lady told, if they had known,--for, to be sure, the biggestlord in the land might be proud--but, I protest, I have a great mindnot to tell you." Jones fell to entreaties, and soon prevailed on herto go on thus. "You must know then, sir, that my lady had given thismuff to me; but about a day or two after I had told her the story, shequarrels with her new muff, and to be sure it is the prettiest thatever was seen. Honour, says she, this is an odious muff; it is too bigfor me, I can't wear it: till I can get another, you must let me havemy old one again, and you may have this in the room on't--for she's agood lady, and scorns to give a thing and take a thing, I promise youthat. So to be sure I fetched it her back again, and, I believe, shehath worn it upon her arm almost ever since, and I warrants hath givenit many a kiss when nobody hath seen her."

  Here the conversation was interrupted by Mr Western himself, who cameto summon Jones to the harpsichord; whither the poor young fellow wentall pale and trembling. This Western observed, but, on seeing MrsHonour, imputed it to a wrong cause; and having given Jones a heartycurse between jest and earnest, he bid him beat abroad, and not poachup the game in his warren.

  Sophia looked this evening with more than usual beauty, and we maybelieve it was no small addition to her charms, in the eye of MrJones, that she now happened to have on her right arm this very muff.

  She was playing one of her father's favourite tunes, and he wasleaning on her chair, when the muff fell over her fingers, and put herout. This so disconcerted the squire, that he snatched the muff fromher, and with a hearty curse threw it into the fire. Sophia instantlystarted up, and with the utmost eagerness recovered it from theflames.

  Though this incident will probably appear of little consequence tomany of our readers; yet, trifling as it was, it had so violent aneffect on poor Jones, that we thought it our duty to relate it. Inreality, there are many little circumstances too often omitted byinjudicious historians, from which events of the utmost importancearise. The world may indeed be considered as a vast machine, in whichthe great wheels are originally set in motion by those which are veryminute, and almost imperceptible to any but the strongest eyes.

  Thus, not all the charms of the incomparable Sophia; not all thedazzling brightness, and languishing softness of her eyes; the harmonyof her voice, and of her person; not all her wit, good-humour,greatness of mind, or sweetness of disposition, had been able soabsolutely to conquer and enslave the heart of poor Jones, as thislittle incident of the muff. Thus the poet sweetly sings of Troy--

  _--Captique dolis lachrymisque coacti Quos neque Tydides, nec Larissaeus Achilles, Non anni domuere decem, non mille Carinae._

  What Diomede or Thetis' greater son, A thousand ships, nor ten years' siege had done False tears and fawning words the city won.

  The citadel of Jones was now taken by surprize. All thoseconsiderations of honour and prudence which our heroe had lately withso much military wisdom placed as guards over the avenues of hisheart, ran away from their posts, and the god of love marched in, intriumph.