History of Tom Jones, a Foundling
had, besides, a certain imperfection, which renders some flowers,
though very beautiful to the eye, very improper to be placed in a
wilderness of sweets, and what above all others is most disagreeable
to the breath of love.
Though Jones saw all these discouragements on the one side, he felt
his obligations full as strongly on the other; nor did he less plainly
discern the ardent passion whence those obligations proceeded, the
extreme violence of which if he failed to equal, he well knew the lady
would think him ungrateful; and, what is worse, he would have thought
himself so. He knew the tacit consideration upon which all her favours
were conferred; and as his necessity obliged him to accept them, so
his honour, he concluded, forced him to pay the price. This therefore
he resolved to do, whatever misery it cost him, and to devote himself
to her, from that great principle of justice, by which the laws of
some countries oblige a debtor, who is no otherwise capable of
discharging his debt, to become the slave of his creditor.
While he was meditating on these matters, he received the following
note from the lady:--
“A very foolish, but a very perverse accident hath happened since
our last meeting, which makes it improper I should see you any more
at the usual place. I will, if possible, contrive some other place
by to-morrow. In the meantime, adieu.”
This disappointment, perhaps, the reader may conclude was not very
great; but if it was, he was quickly relieved; for in less than an
hour afterwards another note was brought him from the same hand, which
contained as follows:--
“I have altered my mind since I wrote; a change which, if you are no
stranger to the tenderest of all passions, you will not wonder at. I
am now resolved to see you this evening at my own house, whatever
may be the consequence. Come to me exactly at seven; I dine abroad,
but will be at home by that time. A day, I find, to those that
sincerely love, seems longer than I imagined.
“If you should accidentally be a few moments before me, bid them
show you into the drawing-room.”
To confess the truth, Jones was less pleased with this last epistle
than he had been with the former, as he was prevented by it from
complying with the earnest entreaties of Mr Nightingale, with whom he
had now contracted much intimacy and friendship. These entreaties were
to go with that young gentleman and his company to a new play, which
was to be acted that evening, and which a very large party had agreed
to damn, from some dislike they had taken to the author, who was a
friend to one of Mr Nightingale's acquaintance. And this sort of fun,
our heroe, we are ashamed to confess, would willingly have preferred
to the above kind appointment; but his honour got the better of his
inclination.
Before we attend him to this intended interview with the lady, we
think proper to account for both the preceding notes, as the reader
may possibly be not a little surprized at the imprudence of Lady
Bellaston, in bringing her lover to the very house where her rival was
lodged.
First, then, the mistress of the house where these lovers had hitherto
met, and who had been for some years a pensioner to that lady, was now
become a methodist, and had that very morning waited upon her
ladyship, and after rebuking her very severely for her past life, had
positively declared that she would, on no account, be instrumental in
carrying on any of her affairs for the future.
The hurry of spirits into which this accident threw the lady made her
despair of possibly finding any other convenience to meet Jones that
evening; but as she began a little to recover from her uneasiness at
the disappointment, she set her thoughts to work, when luckily it came
into her head to propose to Sophia to go to the play, which was
immediately consented to, and a proper lady provided for her
companion. Mrs Honour was likewise despatched with Mrs Etoff on the
same errand of pleasure; and thus her own house was left free for the
safe reception of Mr Jones, with whom she promised herself two or
three hours of uninterrupted conversation after her return from the
place where she dined, which was at a friend's house in a pretty
distant part of the town, near her old place of assignation, where she
had engaged herself before she was well apprized of the revolution
that had happened in the mind and morals of her late confidante.
Chapter x.
A chapter which, though short, may draw tears from some eyes.
Mr Jones was just dressed to wait on Lady Bellaston, when Mrs Miller
rapped at his door; and, being admitted, very earnestly desired his
company below-stairs, to drink tea in the parlour.
Upon his entrance into the room, she presently introduced a person to
him, saying, “This, sir, is my cousin, who hath been so greatly
beholden to your goodness, for which he begs to return you his
sincerest thanks.”
The man had scarce entered upon that speech which Mrs Miller had so
kindly prefaced, when both Jones and he, looking stedfastly at each
other, showed at once the utmost tokens of surprize. The voice of the
latter began instantly to faulter; and, instead of finishing his
speech, he sunk down into a chair, crying, “It is so, I am convinced
it is so!”
“Bless me! what's the meaning of this?” cries Mrs Miller; “you are not
ill, I hope, cousin? Some water, a dram this instant.”
“Be not frighted, madam,” cries Jones, “I have almost as much need of
a dram as your cousin. We are equally surprized at this unexpected
meeting. Your cousin is an acquaintance of mine, Mrs Miller.”
“An acquaintance!” cries the man.--“Oh, heaven!”
“Ay, an acquaintance,” repeated Jones, “and an honoured acquaintance
too. When I do not love and honour the man who dares venture
everything to preserve his wife and children from instant destruction,
may I have a friend capable of disowning me in adversity!”
“Oh, you are an excellent young man,” cries Mrs Miller:--“Yes, indeed,
poor creature! he hath ventured everything.--If he had not had one of
the best of constitutions, it must have killed him.”
“Cousin,” cries the man, who had now pretty well recovered himself,
“this is the angel from heaven whom I meant. This is he to whom,
before I saw you, I owed the preservation of my Peggy. He it was to
whose generosity every comfort, every support which I have procured
for her, was owing. He is, indeed, the worthiest, bravest, noblest; of
all human beings. O cousin, I have obligations to this gentleman of
such a nature!”
“Mention nothing of obligations,” cries Jones eagerly; “not a word, I
insist upon it, not a word” (meaning, I suppose, that he would not
have him betray the affair of the robbery to any person). “If, by the
trifle you have received from me, I have preserved a whole family,
sure pleasure was never bought so cheap.”
“Oh, sir!” cries the man, “I wish you could this instant see my house.
If any person had ever a right to the pleasure you mention, I am
convinced it is yourself. My cousin tells me she acquainted you with
the distress in which she found us. That, sir, is all greatly removed,
and chiefly by your goodness.----My children have now a bed to lie
on----and they have----they have----eternal blessings reward you for
it!----they have bread to eat. My little boy is recovered; my wife is
out of danger, and I am happy. All, all owing to you, sir, and to my
cousin here, one of the best of women. Indeed, sir, I must see you at
my house.--Indeed my wife must see you, and thank you.--My children
too must express their gratitude.----Indeed, sir, they are not without
a sense of their obligation; but what is my feeling when I reflect to
whom I owe that they are now capable of expressing their
gratitude.----Oh, sir, the little hearts which you have warmed had now
been cold as ice without your assistance.”
Here Jones attempted to prevent the poor man from proceeding; but
indeed the overflowing of his own heart would of itself have stopped
his words. And now Mrs Miller likewise began to pour forth
thanksgivings, as well in her own name, as in that of her cousin, and
concluded with saying, “She doubted not but such goodness would meet a
glorious reward.”
Jones answered, “He had been sufficiently rewarded already. Your
cousin's account, madam,” said he, “hath given me a sensation more
pleasing than I have ever known. He must be a wretch who is unmoved at
hearing such a story; how transporting then must be the thought of
having happily acted a part in this scene! If there are men who cannot
feel the delight of giving happiness to others, I sincerely pity them,
as they are incapable of tasting what is, in my opinion, a greater
honour, a higher interest, and a sweeter pleasure than the ambitious,
the avaricious, or the voluptuous man can ever obtain.”
The hour of appointment being now come, Jones was forced to take a
hasty leave, but not before he had heartily shaken his friend by the
hand, and desired to see him again as soon as possible; promising that
he would himself take the first opportunity of visiting him at his own
house. He then stept into his chair, and proceeded to Lady
Bellaston's, greatly exulting in the happiness which he had procured
to this poor family; nor could he forbear reflecting, without horror,
on the dreadful consequences which must have attended them, had he
listened rather to the voice of strict justice than to that of mercy,
when he was attacked on the high road.
Mrs Miller sung forth the praises of Jones during the whole evening,
in which Mr Anderson, while he stayed, so passionately accompanied
her, that he was often on the very point of mentioning the
circumstance of the robbery. However, he luckily recollected himself,
and avoided an indiscretion which would have been so much the greater,
as he knew Mrs Miller to be extremely strict and nice in her
principles. He was likewise well apprized of the loquacity of this
lady; and yet such was his gratitude, that it had almost got the
better both of discretion and shame, and made him publish that which
would have defamed his own character, rather than omit any
circumstances which might do the fullest honour to his benefactor.
Chapter xi.
In which the reader will be surprized.
Mr Jones was rather earlier than the time appointed, and earlier than
the lady; whose arrival was hindered, not only by the distance of the
place where she dined, but by some other cross accidents very
vexatious to one in her situation of mind. He was accordingly shown
into the drawing-room, where he had not been many minutes before the
door opened, and in came----no other than Sophia herself, who had left
the play before the end of the first act; for this, as we have already
said, being, a new play, at which two large parties met, the one to
damn, and the other to applaud, a violent uproar, and an engagement
between the two parties, had so terrified our heroine, that she was
glad to put herself under the protection of a young gentleman who
safely conveyed her to her chair.
As Lady Bellaston had acquainted her that she should not be at home
till late, Sophia, expecting to find no one in the room, came hastily
in, and went directly to a glass which almost fronted her, without
once looking towards the upper end of the room, where the statue of
Jones now stood motionless.---In this glass it was, after
contemplating her own lovely face, that she first discovered the said
statue; when, instantly turning about, she perceived the reality of
the vision: upon which she gave a violent scream, and scarce preserved
herself from fainting, till Jones was able to move to her, and support
her in his arms.
To paint the looks or thoughts of either of these lovers, is beyond my