History of Tom Jones, a Foundling

by Henry Fielding

  Chapter iv.

  A picture of a country gentlewoman taken from the life.

  Mr Western having finished his holla, and taken a little breath, beganto lament, in very pathetic terms, the unfortunate condition of men,who are, says he, "always whipt in by the humours of some d--n'd b--or other. I think I was hard run enough by your mother for one man;but after giving her a dodge, here's another b-- follows me upon thefoil; but curse my jacket if I will be run down in this manner by anyo'um."

  Sophia never had a single dispute with her father, till this unluckyaffair of Blifil, on any account, except in defence of her mother,whom she had loved most tenderly, though she lost her in the eleventhyear of her age. The squire, to whom that poor woman had been afaithful upper-servant all the time of their marriage, had returnedthat behaviour by making what the world calls a good husband. He veryseldom swore at her (perhaps not above once a week) and never beather; she had not the least occasion for jealousy, and was perfectmistress of her time; for she was never interrupted by her husband,who was engaged all the morning in his field exercises, and all theevening with bottle companions. She scarce indeed ever saw him but atmeals; where she had the pleasure of carving those dishes which shehad before attended at the dressing. From these meals she retiredabout five minutes after the other servants, having only stayed todrink "the king over the water." Such were, it seems, Mr Western'sorders; for it was a maxim with him, that women should come in withthe first dish, and go out after the first glass. Obedience to theseorders was perhaps no difficult task; for the conversation (if it maybe called so) was seldom such as could entertain a lady. It consistedchiefly of hallowing, singing, relations of sporting adventures,b--d--y, and abuse of women, and of the government.

  These, however, were the only seasons when Mr Western saw his wife;for when he repaired to her bed, he was generally so drunk that hecould not see; and in the sporting season he always rose from herbefore it was light. Thus was she perfect mistress of her time, andhad besides a coach and four usually at her command; though unhappily,indeed, the badness of the neighbourhood, and of the roads, made thisof little use; for none who had set much value on their necks wouldhave passed through the one, or who had set any value on their hours,would have visited the other. Now to deal honestly with the reader,she did not make all the return expected to so much indulgence; forshe had been married against her will by a fond father, the matchhaving been rather advantageous on her side; for the squire's estatewas upward of L3000 a year, and her fortune no more than a bare L8000.Hence perhaps she had contracted a little gloominess of temper, forshe was rather a good servant than a good wife; nor had she always thegratitude to return the extraordinary degree of roaring mirth, withwhich the squire received her, even with a good-humoured smile. Shewould, moreover, sometimes interfere with matters which did notconcern her, as the violent drinking of her husband, which in thegentlest terms she would take some of the few opportunities he gaveher of remonstrating against. And once in her life she very earnestlyentreated him to carry her for two months to London, which heperemptorily denied; nay, was angry with his wife for the request everafter, being well assured that all the husbands in London arecuckolds.

  For this last, and many other good reasons, Western at length heartilyhated his wife; and as he never concealed this hatred before herdeath, so he never forgot it afterwards; but when anything in theleast soured him, as a bad scenting day, or a distemper among hishounds, or any other such misfortune, he constantly vented his spleenby invectives against the deceased, saying, "If my wife was alive now,she would be glad of this."

  These invectives he was especially desirous of throwing forth beforeSophia; for as he loved her more than he did any other, so he wasreally jealous that she had loved her mother better than him. And thisjealousy Sophia seldom failed of heightening on these occasions; forhe was not contented with violating her ears with the abuse of hermother, but endeavoured to force an explicit approbation of all thisabuse; with which desire he never could prevail upon her by anypromise or threats to comply.

  Hence some of my readers will, perhaps, wonder that the squire had nothated Sophia as much as he had hated her mother; but I must informthem, that hatred is not the effect of love, even through the mediumof jealousy. It is, indeed, very possible for jealous persons to killthe objects of their jealousy, but not to hate them. Which sentimentbeing a pretty hard morsel, and bearing something of the air of aparadox, we shall leave the reader to chew the cud upon it to the endof the chapter.